Angelic Sacrifice: Them That Remain
by My Lovely Yume
Summary: All is peaceful in the new world and Derris Kharlan is in the hands of Kratos and Yuan. Sadly, the planet is anything but serene for the Seraphim as they are emotionally torn to pieces. What is to become of them that remain? [Postgame][Spoilers][Not yaoi]
1. Chapter 1

Zomg, hack! New story. This one has been sitting on my concious for a while, refusing to go away until I let it out. Kinda hard to type this too being it's a few days after prom and I've maintained my French manicured fingers. Nails + typing frustrations. This was supposed to be a one shot, angst fan fiction. I figured it would be too long for a one shot, so, it'll probably be two or three chapters. Tales of a Twist: Fate of the Prodigy and Tales of the Aftermath: New Beginnings still take priority over this because those are currently my most intensive and most popular. While I upload those, read this. Bwhahaha. I've also got a LloydxRaine one shot festering in the back of my head. No, wait, actually, it's already typed. Just gotta proofread and upload it...

Oh, yes. While it does have Kratos AND Yuan in it, this is NOT, I repeat, this is NOT a **yaoi. **I promise you: no shonen-ai or yaoi. Sorry, Kruan/Yutos fangirls. There may be parts where it seems like it, but I assure you, I do not intend it that way. If you wanna interpret it as yaoi/shonen-ai, be my guest. Silly Kruan fangirls.

The beginning of the story with the whole Sacrifice description is kind of a prolouge. It's one of Colette's skill (her best ever because she dies -insert smiles-). Kratos doesn't have it (it would be sealed anyway because I'd cry if he died), but since it's an Angel skill and some what of the inspiration for the story I put it in. Hope it doesn't confuse you.

I proofread this a few times; there shouldn't be any typos. If there are, let me know. Anyway, enjoy. Oh, yeah. And if you haven't figured it out by now, this contains spoilers. Beat the game before reading. ... I think that's everything. Damn. That's the longest author notes I've written in a while. Did I mention I'm currently in school?

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Colette's Angel Toxicosis would have killed her.

(Edit 6/19/2007: Fixed three typos.)

* * *

_We of Cruxis bless this event and bestow upon you the abilities of the Angels._

_Learned Sacrifice._

_Type: Angel Skill._

_Description: Heal all party members and damage all enemies in exchange one's life._

_"Thy power floweth purely, ever unwavering. Accept my soul into thine embrace.  
Sacrifice!"_

_- - - - - - - -_

"Don't die before I do. Lloyd, my son." The last words spoken to a son-, no, a hero, whose father choose to bare the tremendous weight of the sins from the past. He had left behind so much more; a bright future and the remains of his family. Again.

Many would call him a fool; not worthy of being called a Father. For fathers do not abandon their children or put them in danger's way. No, a parent's purpose is to protect his children and keep them safe; to spend time with them and enjoy the remains of their limited life spans. Families were supposed to be happy. But in putting his child in danger, he made the boy stronger. And at the end, his son acknowledged him as Dad. For Kratos, that was enough.

He went up through the teleporter, strengthened by the Eternal Sword. His destination was the desolate planet of Derris Kharlan, or rather the remnants of a Fallen Hero's visions of Heaven. This place was not Heaven; lifeless beings once occupied these hallways, floating around without souls, deprived of their humanity, feelings, worth, and individual judgement and given the title of Angels. They desecrated the title of Angels: once sacred, once holy, once desire. Despicable: nothing more.

He was not alone. Moments after his arrival, a familiar half elf's figure materialized on the teleporter. The silence between them was thicker than their iron will, and just as heavy. Maybe the fact that they would be existing together for the rest of their lives had not settled with them yet as they still managed to maintain a barrier of hostility towards each other. They were the only two people left of a tainted organization, bent on ending genocide by creating one of its own; ending violence with violence, fighting fire with fire, preventing death with death, stopping discrimination by lowering the value of those with the pure blood of one race. But sacrifice was necessary to achieve a common goal. If only he'd realize that discrimination was rooted deeper than he ever imagined.

One sighed and the other locked eye contact in anticipation of words, but was disappointed upon hearing none.

Finally, he worked up the courage to speak. "We have much to do. Might as well get started." The half elf stepped off the teleport pad. "I'll be in the Great Seed Chamber breaking down the equipment."

"Alright. Page me if you need me." And with that, Kratos left to begin his duties.

They both knew that cleaning out the planet would take a lot of time. Not like they were on a time limit. The planet slowly floated away from the gravitational grasp of the brand new world named Kyoushin before their departure and neither Seraphim had any intention of going back. It was over.

Kratos turned his attention to the Mana Fragment Warehouse directly to his right. He stepped to the door, expecting it to open automatically upon sensing his presence approaching like it always did but ended up running into the cold metal slab; face first. Rubbing his now swollen forehead with his right hand, he took his left and attempted to pry open the sliding doors from the center. One single arm was not strong enough to force entry, so the Seraph retrieved his right hand from its soothing duties. With their combined strength and support from a certain glowing Cruxis Crystal, adorned on a golden Key Crest, now fading away, he separated the two halves of metal that made up the door and entered the building. The area was dark and slowly collecting dust around the equipment. Angels were assigned routine cleaning duties, but to Kratos' knowledge, none had survived.

While trekking the abandoned warehouse, Kratos spotted the communicator against the wall. He remembered when his figure would appear in a holographic form, demanding items from the guard and receiving them without refusal. Back then, merely the mention of his name necessitated respect, while his mien filled the room with awe and fear for those who knew of his great power. That great power was gained through much sacrifice and the lives of many people; dishonesty, ignorance, misguided loyalty, and alliances. But now all that was gone like a broken promise and only a man remained. The shell of a man; full of emptiness. Full of nothing.

- - - - -

Somewhere in a much deeper part of Derris Kharlan, the half elf approached a room better known as the Great Seed Chamber. Decaying twigs and twisted roots layering the stone path and blocked his way, but they merely screamed in pain as his nimble, boot-covered feet crushed them into dust, slowly raining down on the ground in a minute snowfall of impurity. His soft angelic ears ignored the noises as he continued down the path before stopping in front of a large, crescent moon shaped altar. The sight of the altar pained him momentarily until a sense of solace took over his heart. No longer was his love trapped within the confinement of the most important seed to ever exist in the world. No longer was her soul merged within the salvation of the world. She had been set free to rest in peace forever.

Yuan sighed to himself and walked around to examine the remains of the chamber. Most of the equipment and steps had been destroyed during Mithos' temper tantrum after Martel's body was sucked out of Colette's body; burnt marks and holes scarred the faces of walls, windows, and the ceiling. When the worlds were reunited and Derris Kharlan slowly began to bid farewell, pieces of the Tower of Salvation stuck to the planet like a magnet. The half elf was hurt when he found out that the Chamber had been one of those unfortunate pieces to float aimlessly, but refused to openly admit it. This was one of the rooms he wouldn't mind never seeing again. Fate had a cruel way of working against those who had painful ties to the past and leaving a gentle reminder of one's mistakes; as if everything worked against the wounded, the broken hearted.

He pondered the most effective way to do his job. Maybe it would be best to merely break down the equipment piece by piece, in case, for some strange and odd reason, they'd need it again. But, no, for what reason would they want to resurrect the dead? Yuan shook the idea from his head and moaned his annoyance. How could he even consider such an idea after the four thousand years of emotional hell he'd been through? If Martel deserved to be resurrected, then so did all the failed Chosens who lost their lives at the end of their journeys. And... what about his dear subordinate Botta? Fueled by the embarrassment of even allowing such a thought to enter his mind, the half elf grunted before stretching his folded arms through the opening of his long black cape.

He dug down deep within his soul, tapping into the power of his Cruxis Crystal. Once again, he would use it to destroy... just this one last time. Words began to swell up, pushing their way through his chest and releasing from his lips like molten lava erupting from the earth. Underneath his feet, mana gathered in a powerful harmony, preparing to do his bidding. It began to glow a shade of purple; the same as the sky when Derris Kharlan was revealed above Sylvarant and Tethe'alla. Symbols drew themselves within the circle, an intricate array of Elven and Angelic lines, shapes, and patterns which meant death for anything that was targeted.

"Thunder of the Heavens, Lightning of the Sardonyx Skies, awaken from the depths of thy slumber! Lend me thy powers! Show me thy strength! Indignation Storm!"

And at that moment, shots of electricity ran out from the ground, to the walls, and into the ceiling, creating a giant mass of electrical insanity. The sounds of lightning twitching and festering signaled the coming of distinguished power. Then the mass spread from a single ball until its circumference touched the edges of the walls all around the room. Suddenly, a lightning shower began to rain down in the Chamber. Circular masses of electrical mana the size of meteors fell in a rapid succession, destroying everything in its path with an amazing thunder explosion, too stunning to believe.

Within seconds, the job had been completed. Yuan inspected the room once more; pushing random buttons and pulling levers with a single finger, making sure nothing reacted or gave any signs of life. Everything was in a complete wreck. Satisfied with the level of destruction, he leaned against the sturdiest wall he could find and let his body slide down until his bottom hit the floor with a thud. He felt... drowsy.

Yuan took deep breaths through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, moving his cerulean hair to and fro in accordance with his breathing pattern. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead as well as his cheeks before cascading down his flushed face. "Haven't... us-used.. that spell si-...since... Khar-Kharlan...the Ancient Kharlan...Wars," he somehow managed to blurt out between short breaths. He moved his head from side to side, uncomfortable with either of his sweaty cheeks being on the wall for too long.

It had been over four thousand years since he called upon the extraordinary powers of the lightning. Back then, the half elf was forced to defend a carriage carrying some very precious cargo.

"Martel."

Yes, inside that carriage all those years ago sat an injured Martel Yggdrasill. The carriage was driven by a familiar human; the only one Mithos trusted, for the twisted fourteen year old boy half elf, sick of discrimination, prejudice over a bloodline he could not control, being mistreated and unable to find a solid foundation of reliance, wouldn't even allow his own human parent tend to his sister's wounds, nor could the root of his elven heritage treat her body._ They'll kill her, _he thought. _They can't be trusted._

A crack of the reigns commanded the dragons to increase their already irrational pace. Faster and faster, the carriage traveled down a dirt path, marked by dead grass, at the speed of sound. Kratos tried his best to make the ride as smooth as possible, though he was failing miserably. Far too many pebbles and boulders blocked the road and attempting to avoid them all seemed impossible. Martel lay in the arms of her shaken brother, motionless if not for the soft, yet random recognizable movements she made just to assure her brother of her life. She tried to speak but ended up coughing up blood in abundance. The attack was more powerful than she expected and her force field broke before its intensity even reached her body, causing her to feel the full effects of the blow. She was hurt. But Mithos knew; she was dying.

They were almost to the Old Kharlan Bridge, a safe point with half elves specializing in the healing arts. It was then that Yuan realized the carriage was under heavy attack. Most of the opposing forces turned their attention to the old broken down buggy, and every so often, an elemental meteor would barely miss impacting the side, thanks to Kratos' sharp reflexes and quick thinking. The windows of the buggy were covered; Mithos would have had a heart attack if he saw the horror outside and Martel would have surely died in an instant. Even if Kratos could have driven faster, Yuan knew they weren't going to make it. Something had to be done. He had to stop them.

In a desperate attempt to save his companions, a troubled Yuan ran behind a tree, out of the view of the war. He snatched a green bag from his back, grabbed the ends, and held the bag upside down, allowing all the contents to drop on the grassy ground. Then he dropped to his knees and ransacked his belongings, shifting around the disheveled pile; his eyes were concentrating on a certain shape, color, and appearance. He smiled when he found it: The Elven Book of Magic, a book containing hundreds of pages of intense spells, used only by high class elves from Heimdall. Unknown to them, Yuan "borrowed" the book before being run out one night.

He forced the book open and flipped through the pages like a madman. He needed something. Anything. Anything powerful enough to stop them. Something strong enough to get Martel to safety... Something like...

"Indignation Storm!"

He hadn't even noticed that he had read the Elven words covering the pages until he felt an incredible amount of mana heading towards the skies, only to rain down from the Heavens, striking all things evil in his eyes with a tremendous lightning feast. It was as if Volt himself took a hand upon the land and personally swiped them out. With the majority of their predators taken out, Kratos successfully made his way to the bridge; precious cargo intact.

But Yuan learned an important lesson that day: strength comes with sacrifice. Suddenly, he felt drowsy and soon after, dizzy. He tried to walk around but fell to his knees again; his vision grew blurry and became more and more unclear as he tried to focus on things in front of his field of vision, until finally he collapsed from mana deprivation and fatigue.

Over the years, Yuan became stronger. So strong, the spell was put in the back of his mind. It was too powerful to be used again but too memorable to forget, for it was used to save a Goddess: The Goddess Martel.

- - - - - - - - -

Kratos stacked up the fragments in piles of ten in order to count them. Inventory had to be taken, even though most of the equipment would be discarded into the deep void called outer space. With his sharp and nearly photographic memory, there was no need for a paper and quill to keep track of things. He had forgotten how to forget; a skill he'd give anything to reclaim for there was so much he wished to have no knowledge of anymore.

By the time he finished, about one hundred stacks of mana fragments lay before him. He took a moment to examine his work and rest before remembering his next steps. Making a mental note, Kratos packed them into boxes and proceeded to take each to entrance of the emergency exit. That's where the two agreed on dumping everything.

It took about fifteen trips, but after a few hours, all of his boxes sat in front of the emergency exit. Some other materials, obviously scrap for they were deformed beyond belief, lay next to the teleporter. Kratos figured they were Yuan's trash, so he choose not to bother them. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with the half elf over discarded equipment.

Slowly but surely, each room received the same fate. All of the south section's equipment had been packed and moved for removal in a matter of hours, which felt like days to Kratos. Derris Kharlan had no method of time management, due to all residents having an unlimited amount of it. He grew weary as he did his task, but not in the sense of desiring sleep. Slumber was not what he wanted; for what he truly desired was eternal rest.

Then the time came. Kratos stood before the entrance of the Exsphere Storage Room. He could feel an evil presence radiating from the inside: the presence of lives stolen by a single parasitic stone. Despite his command, his feet disobeyed his dictation; they would not move further. Maybe they were telling him something in the form of a silent protest; warning him of the danger and horror that lay inside. But what could possibly be inside that was more horrible than what he had seen for over four thousand years? What could Destiny possibly have in store for the man at this point in his life?

With a sigh and a silent grunt, he forced his body to approach the door. This room could only be opened by a member of the High Cruxis Order; a title the Seraph was in possession of. He shifted his vision to the lower right and located the magitechnology scanner. The slab felt so cold as he laid his hand upon the top. He waited for the sound of confirmation and the door to open. But it never came.

"Access denied. You do not have permission to enter this room. Please seek the assistance of a member of the High Cruxis Order," said a monotone voice, resembling a lifeless angel.

Kratos looked at the door; half confused and half irritated. A few more failed attempts before he contemplated seeking Yuan's assistance. He quickly voted against it.

"Hmph." The Seraph folded his arm and laid them against the chest of his white uniform. "Mithos... Even in death, you stand in my way." He held his head down for a moment, smirking in annoyance.

But it was of no matter. He knew other ways of getting inside.

Kratos stretched out his hands and forced his fingers into the side of the door; the point were the door met the frame. Suddenly, he cried out in pain, retreating his fingers to find them swollen and bleeding. Something must have stung him.

Now slowly becoming enraged, the man balled his hands into fists, ignoring the shots of pain pulsing through his still swollen fingers. He tilted his body to the side, pulled his right fist back, well behind his back in order to gain more power, and aimed carefully before allowing it to charge at the door. A large sound was heard upon impact; it could have easily frightened anyone within earshot.

One strike was not enough; the slab merely had a dent in it. Kratos smirked with satisfaction, glad to see he was making progress. He took in a deep breath and brought back his fist for round two. After what was a rather violent experience for the door, he managed to dislocate the metal from its placement in the side of the wall. A bit of shaking and he was able to pull it out, throwing it to the ground without a second thought and ignoring the noise of landing.

Darkness greeted him as Kratos explored the inside. He carefully made his way through the broken entrance, waiting patiently for his eyes to adjust and guiding his feet as if he were learning to walk for the first time all over again. It seemed like every room had the same lack of light, but not just any lack of light. It was more of an abundance of darkness; as if the rooms were hiding secrets. Sinful secrets.

The sounds of his movements intensified miraculously and echoed against the walls of the abandoned storage house; he could even hear his heart beating. What was this strange feeling overtaking his body, causing the human part of his domineer to react in such a way; making him explore with caution? He heightened his senses and reached for his sword, slightly jumping back when his hand failed to grasp the familiar, cold hilt of his Flamberge. Then he sighed and remembered that the sword had been left in the care of his son. The Seraph was sword-less, yet not vulnerable. Snapping his back straight in a military position, he demanded his body to regain the feel of control he was known for; the familiar sense of confidence that saved his life on so many occasions and made him into a cold, killing robot. He had a job to do and convinced himself that he was merely deviating from the task at hand by letting blind fear domineer his actions.

That's when he heard sounds coming from a corner. Kratos grunted curiously and moved to the side, allowing the small stream of light from behind him to flood the room, giving a bit of relief to his eyes. When a cloud of dust moved, he confirmed that another presence resided in the room.

The Seraph held out his hand, all fingers extended as if he were stopping something from colliding with his body. A white mana circle formed beneath his feet as he chanted a spell in an unmusical voice.

"Sacred powers, cast your purifying light upon these corrupt souls! Rest in peace, sinners! Judgment!"

Pure white mana swelled up into the sky. Sharp beams of light fell from the Heavens, illuminating the area if only for a moment. Kratos stepped back in shock when he noticed the glistening of eyes in the corner. His guest was another person.

"Who's there?" he asked, receiving no reply. Frustrated by the silence, he charged for the corner and ripped back the equipment shielding the figure. "Impossible..."

The man was face to face with his guest, staring into a pair of deep red, lifeless eyes.

"Lord Kratos?!" the being replied. Lord Kratos... it could only be an angel referring to him with such a disgraceful title.

"If I am?" was all he could manage to reply. The shock of finding a surviving angel still hadn't set in. Maybe he should have listened to his feet and set the room on fire, for he could deal with screams of agony. It would have been best if he had burned everything and everyone inside the room, that way, he would not have to give a speech of disappointing news. _Fate, why do you continue to pain me?_

"What has happened? Lord Yggdrasill is no where to be found, the Eternal Sword is gone, and Derris Kharlan is deserted."

Kratos sighed, closing his eyes and thinking for a moment before finding the courage to reveal the truth. "Mithos is dead and the worlds have been reunited. The Age of Lifeless Beings is no more."

The angel looked back in disbelief. "Impossible!"

"If that is how you feel, then our conversation ends." Kratos stepped back and folded his arms.

"No!" the angel replied in a fret. It stood to its feet so fast it nearly tripped. "It is a surprise to me. When I noticed everything happening here, I stayed in this room, expecting Lord Yggdrasill to rescue us. Has the Goddess been resurrected?"

"No. She has been put to rest, like she deserved to be."

The being shook its head, refusing to believe the words of its lord. How could ultimate power be defeated? Was there truly no hope for a world without discrimination? "I see..."

"Currently, Derris Kharlan is floating in space aimlessly. We've left the gravitational field of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla."

"I...see... So it really is over. I am the only survivor."

"Yes."

"But, Lord Kratos, what is to become of me?"

Kratos looked back, wide eyed with shock. This was the first time in a long while that he truly did not have an answer. How could he when he did not expect to come in contact with someone who was ignorant of the end? Why is the end never really the end; just another door that Fate creates to torment those who are still healing scars?

"..." He said nothing, for he had nothing to say. There was no future for the angel, as its future had been destroyed once Lloyd dealt the final blow to the boy's Cruxis Crystal. But there was another option. It had to be done.

"... Lord Kratos."

The Seraph broke from his train of thought and spotted a lone sword on the floor next to the angel. "Hand me that sword."

* * *

Oooooo! I'm leaving you in suspense! How evil of me. -insert evil laughter- This story may be updated within the next few days, depending on my schedule, as I've many things to do. I tried to describe Indignation Storm as best as possible. Just think of it as Genis' Meteor Storm, Colette's Judgment, and Thunder Explosion all in one. I'd give anything to make it a real move... 

Read, rate, love, hate; just leave some sensible comments. Tootles.


	2. Chapter 2

Zomg, hack. It's chapter two. I think this may be about a four or five chapter fan fiction with an epilouge. Funny to think this started out as a one shot. Lawl. Time to find out what Kratos does with that sword! Zomg!

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Indignation Storm would be a real skill.

* * *

Such a horrible fate to be incapable of making decisions on one's own; cursed to conformity, even if it meant abiding in the words of the devil, disguised as a hero. Curse the lifeless being for having no will to disobey orders, only programmed to follow direct commands and believe the lies that were fed into its brain, like a sponge soaking up dirty water flowing from a stream of mental dross. To make matters even worse, Kratos was exploiting this weakness with his title and position for all it was worth, in a way that would prove most fatal. Some things would never change; some sins could never be erased. 

The angel turned its gaze to the side until it came in direct line with a lone sword laying on the ground. Nodding in submission, it bent down, moved the equipment blocking its target with monotone grunts, and grabbed hold of the sword before handing it to Kratos, hilt first in respect. It was heavy, but somehow the angel managed to counter its weight.

He accepted the offering, relieved upon his skin embracing the handle in a sense to grip something cold, yet familiar. Was it okay that he felt at ease when coming in contact with something of his murderous past?

Kratos inspected the sword for any disfigurements, finding a minimal amount. The blade was dull on most of the edge, but his strength could easily make up for its lack. "Turn to face the wall." He pointed to the wall directly in front of the both of them with the sharp tip. A small beam of light danced on the wall as the light from the main hall bounced off the sword.

"What will you do, Lord Kratos?" the lifeless being asked once its back was to Kratos.

"Step towards me a bit," replied the Seraph with a sigh. He shook his head, as if denying the regret crushing his persona.

Almost immediately, the angel took a step back. "Is this adequate?"

"That'll do."

"What are you planning to do, Lord Kratos? If I have permission to ask."

"..." Ashamed, he tilted his head to the side, rather grateful the being could not see, and bit his bottom lip. He could have easily told the being to cease verbal communications, but he did not for reasons of his own.

"I trust your judgment, Sir." The angel's voice was slightly distant due to its position. "Lord Yggdrasill trusted you, therefore, I have no reason to doubt you."

A sharp pain shot through the side of his face and he winced as if slapped. Something in the back of his mind irked him, stabbing at his conscious and memories. Yggdrasill... Mithos Yggdrasill. Damn that name, damn the monster he had created. But he merely taught the boy how to handle a sword, not how to murder a nation or misinterpret the final wishes of his sister. No matter how he twisted the explanation, the blame was absolute; there was no excuse. Enough of trying to explain himself: what he allowed was wrong, there was no doubt about it. But still, he kept finding gentle reminders from the past; they'd never leave him alone, like a stench in the air that could not be removed. They had to stop; no more could exist. This was the end.

With his eyes closed, he said, "I'll try to make this quick and painless." He lifted the sword, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. It had to be done; there was no turning back now. No, he wouldn't run away. Using the blade as a guide, he reviewed the path he wished it to travel.

Sadly, the angel did not catch on in time. Trusting Lord Kratos' judgement finally proved fatal. It chose to follow the path of the others, therefore, it would die like the others.

Kratos pulled the sword well over his shoulder for force, gritting his teeth. With a silent grunt, he pulled his arm out in an angle and swung the blade with godlike speed. He heard nothing; was he expecting a scream or a cry, possibly a feminine one? The kind of heart-wrecking, compulsive, deafening scream his wife made as his Flamberge pierced her abdomen, ripping her apart like she were merely made of delicate and insignificant paper. But that was different; she was turned into a monster and was already a puppet before Death's door, waiting for entry through any means necessary, whether peaceful or inhuman. Had she not died by the hand of her husband, the exsphere would have returned into the possession of the devil, hence rendering her reason for escape meaningless. Yet... she didn't die at his hand... she was murdered by his hand. The same one that carried her through the night when she was too drowsy to walk; the hands that held their son and rocked him to sleep. The hands of a husband were also the hands of a lover, the hands of a man, the hands of an angel, the hands of a murderer.

The edge came in contact with the being's neck; slicing through cleanly and without any resistance, like a knife through water. The head dislocated from the body with a streamline cut and traveled for a few feet in the air before landing to the ground with a thud. Knees bent slightly, the body followed suit and met the ground with an audible greeting, knocking over randomly scattered equipment and boxes. Exspheres rolled on the floor like shiny, scrounging marbles; they each made a hollow-like sound as they whirled around until hitting an object, most finding their momentum shocked by a wall.

He didn't even realize what happened until he noticed a familiar presence heading towards his current location. Still, the man did not turn around and if it weren't controlled by the undeniable sense of duty coming from the only sane part of his brain, he probably wouldn't even be breathing.

"...tos!" Hastened footsteps accompanied the voice as it grew closer and closer. Within a matter of seconds, Yuan stood in the doorway and blocked the minute amount of light illuminating the room. What he saw was more than enough. "Kratos?!" he questioned.

Kratos opened his mouth to speak, yet no words came out. He merely shook his head and tightened the grip on the sword's hilt. What was there to say? The body, the head, and his dismay should have been more than enough to explain.

"Kratos, what happened?! I heard a scream and came running in here!" Yuan stepped into the warehouse and looked around, trying to make sense of the situation.

A scream? As far as the Seraph was concerned, the room was silent during the incident, like his conscious. Then again, he didn't even hear the sounds of his sword coming in contact with the angel's neck, or the cracking of its spine as it was split in half in a rather frightening position, nor the song of blood spreading all over the wall. How could his ultra sensitive hearing not pick up such a blatantly disturbing, yet familiar sound such as screaming, especially one made during death and agony? Could he have been so distracted that his ears chose not to register the noises? Was he really so used to killing?

"... A scream?" was all the man muttered in a rather droned voice, not unfamiliar, yet disturbing to the half elf.

"Yes... a scream," replied Yuan, slowly noticing something was amidst. "You... didn't hear anything?" He considered the possibly of his imagination playing tricks on his senses. That is, until his eyes met with a rather troubling sight. Blood, fresh blood from what he determined by smell, dripped from a sword in Kratos' hand and puddled onto the floor in a beveled, deep red circle, glistening in the soft light. A few lone drops strayed from the main source; their color as rich and their smell as keen as ever.

"N-no... I did not." Kratos swallowed audibly and tightened the grip on the hilt when a strange impulse hit him. His gaze still upon the blood splattered wall as if he were reviewing his work.

"Kratos, what happened?" The half elf stepped closer, but something about Kratos' stance made him keep a distance, as if the human would suddenly lash out at him in cold blood.

He remained silent for a moment with his feet in the same position. "... I had to do it." Like a magnet, the tip of the sword moved towards the angel's lifeless body.

Yuan gasped and threw his hands upon his mouth as he tried to make sense of the man's words. "Impossible?! An angel survived?!" By now, he should have known that the impossible was indeed possible when Lloyd, a mere human, wielded the untouchable Eternal Sword and reunited the worlds. But wonders seemed to never cease for the two of them; the type of wonders for which he wished to have no knowledge of, the ones that could remain a mystery. "But why is it dead and slain? Did it attack? But there's no way an angel would attack a Seraph."

"I had to do it..." repeated Kratos. Now his once soothing voice took on a darker tone.

Figuring he would get no explanation at the current moment, Yuan sighed and decided to deal with the current matter. "Kratos, I will take care of this room. Just rest outside the door."

Normally, his pride and dignity would demand he lash out at the half elf, reminding him that he was more than capable of doing such a simple task himself. But those parts of him, actually most of him, were dormant and Kratos nodded his submission. He turned around so smoothly, he was unsure if his feet participated at all for it was merely a one-hundred and eighty degree slide. Upon making eye contact with Yuan, he released the sword from his death lock and flinched when it hit the ground, creating a loud toned metallic resonance in the room that bounced off the walls. "... hmmm..." Kratos shuffled his feet as if they were made of stone and trekked out of the room, turning at the door. He nearly slammed his back into the wall and released his leg muscles, allowing his body to fall to the floor and ignored the painful, yet temporary feeling of soft flesh to hard metal impact.

Yuan brought his hands to his neck and fumbled around idly until a click was heard. He grabbed the two edges of his cape before it could fall and brought it around his front, folding it neatly and placing it in what he decided to be the cleanest corner in the room. Then he sighed and contemplated on which task to begin first. Possibly the body, for the smell of rotting flesh, especially angelic, would make Derris Kharlan's air supply even more indecent than it already was. Both their senses were acute enough and the scent of blood was already ominous at the present moment, almost nauseating. With that, he stepped forward, kicked away some random equipment, physically moved exspheres laying on the ground that could possibly cause him to trip, and went for the body first. It wasn't heavy or difficult to handle in any sense, but something about it still made his arms feel limp and fatigue-stricken, as if he was weakening every moment he held it. Swallowing his tasteful disgust, Yuan proceeded to carry the remnants out of the door, trying his best to avert his eyes from the severed head. The eyes were still open, gazing with dilated pupils and a grimacing glint. Such a sad ending for a "heavenly" being.

Kratos still sat in the same spot, just outside the storage warehouse; his knees were up to his head and his forehead rested uncomfortably on the caps. His body was contracted as if he had little room to maneuver around; auburn hair blocked any vision to his face. He was silent and didn't even acknowledge the half elf's presence merely inches away from his, refusing to look up. Maybe he was in deep thought, but what could be so deep as to block out the man's sense of alertness and surroundings?

That's when he noticed the steady liquid melody singing in his ear. He looked down and to the right. Blood was dripping from the being's open neck wound. Yuan snapped back and shook his head, remembering the task at hand and shifted the dead weight occupying his arms. The less cleanup he had to do, the better; cleaning up blood was not on his to do list, even if it were his own. With a 'hmph', he summoned his wings and took off to the skies to dispose of the body, leaving Kratos for later time. "What's wrong with him?"

- - - - - -

After a few hours, Kratos made a recovery, though it was anything but a complete convalescence for silence was thicker than ever. Most of the equipment from the room had been relocated to the emergency exit by that time. Throughout his task, Yuan resisted the urge to speak to his companion, having passed him several times, convincing himself that he would receive an explanation in due time.

Blood still decorated the walls, like the ideal canvas of a murder. The room's aura changed, as if haunted by spirits, and the work was completed quickly for both had no desire to stay in the room any longer than required. Two more boxes remained and each took one into his arms. Kratos exited the room first, followed by Yuan, and they stood in front of the entrance for a moment. The look on the half elf's face was more than words could ever communicate. Still, Kratos denied them and summoned his own wings to fly the boxes to their second-to-final destination.

An assorted pile of random materials lay in front of the emergency exit. It took them a while to find a spot to place their belongings for the area was so cluttered. They looked at each other and nodded, acknowledging that they both came to the same conclusion.

"We should begin discarding now." The first words Kratos had spoken in what felt like an eternity. Something in his voice signaled alarm in Yuan, but he pushed the concern to the back of his mind for the time being.

"Yes. I unlocked the control earlier. The exit should be all open. Just open the hatch."

"Alright." Kratos walked over to the wall directly in front of him and scanned it before finding a sturdy metal handle. He reached with both hands, gripping it tightly to compensate for the sweat. The metal was cold and dusty, but Kratos ignored it. Using the power of his muscular shoulders, he forced the handle backwards, yet the door barely budged. He sighed, rather disappointed that even more effort would be needed to do such a simple chore. As if he loved nothing more than obstacles. _One right after another. _

Yuan looked on patiently. Before he could offer help, Kratos removed the door completely, rather indignantly for he threw the magitechnology slab to the ground as if it were a disease or extremely displeasing. "I think the larger equipment should go first since it'll take the most amount of effort." He directed his attention, and ultimately Kratos', with a nod to the disheveled pile of scrap pieces laying near the door.

One by one, they each took turns picking up a piece and heaving it to the door, only to toss it into oblivion. Their movements were like clockwork, silent clockwork as no sounds came from either of the ex-Seraphim. Occasionally, a moan or the irritating hum of metal scrapping the ground would transmit to their ears, but other than that, hush was domineer. Space was no mystery for they had both seen more than enough of it during their duties on Derris Kharlan. Now the pieces would wander aimlessly into a dark void. They bid no farewell before departure and merely gave a scoffed glance, executing the same fate for all pieces. Slowly but surely, the once great pile diminished into something more small-scale.

Then came time for the much smaller boxes cluttering the area. Once Yuan had chucked the last piece threw the exit, he turned and bent his body backwards. The cracking of the half elf's spine caught Kratos' attention. Fatigue was unimaginable for the both of them due to the Aionis running through their four thousand year old blood, but pain was not.

"Would you prefer to take a break?" Kratos asked, folding his arms.

Yuan shook his head. "No. Unless you're tired." He stretched, popping a few more bones in his arms and neck.

Kratos replied with a grunt. "I'm not. Just concerned about you."

"Then let's begin with the boxes." Reaching for the closest box, he bent over, dug his fingers under its bottom for support, and heaved it upwards.

"Very well." Kratos followed suit and decided to follow in order. The boxes were set up in an orderly fashion; rows of ten, stacked up no higher than seven or eight, and the heaviest were purposely placed on the bottom for stability reasons. So, he started from the top down and both continued in that pattern until only one row remained.

Once again, everything was done in silence, as if they were forbidden to talk, else resulting in harsh punishment. Existing on Derris Kharlan while it was in such a dead state was punishment enough. Kratos lied to himself, convincing the last sane voices in his head that it was his duty to take on the burdens of the past just because he was once a part of them. In reality, he was only on the forsaken mass of mana for his own un-reversible form of discipline: being unable to see the new world or his son for the rest of his eternal life. Then for what reason would he seek redemption? The man's morals were just as twisted as his former companion. In more ways than one, Kratos and Mithos were truly one in the same; blinded from revelation.

That's when a sudden noise broke Kratos' train of thought. A glance to the side revealed the source of the sound. There laid Yuan on the floor, arms and legs stretched out, face down, as if he were permanently stuck to the ground; scattered boxes, some half open with their contents covering the ground, next to, on the side of, and on top of the half elf. He moaned and shifted his weight around for a moment, half expecting to hear hysterical laughter from Kratos.

He received none. "Care to explain?" asked Kratos, ironically. He had yet to give an account for his own melancholy silence after the angel incident.

Yuan tilted his head to the side before looking up. His vision barely came up to Kratos' waist. "... I tripped," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Hmmm."

The half elf scurried around and stood to his feet, almost tripping for a second time. He cleared his throat, bringing his hands to his neck. His face twitched slightly when his hands failed to come in contact with the soft black material known as his cape. Then he sighed, remembering it still sat in the corner of the exsphere warehouse. He made a mental note to retrieve it later.

"We're almost done," Yuan said and silently counted the remaining boxes, trying to direct attention back to the chore at hand. "Just these and then the last row."

Yuan began by cleaning up the aftermath of his fall, putting the equipment and exsphere back into the box. He refused his companion's help and replied that since it was his mistake, he should solely deal with it. Some of the boxes were physically damaged; the fact was ignored and he merely repaired it to the best of his ability, lacking the required materials to properly mend it and the patience to find another adequate, yet disposable form of packaging.

The last row didn't take long. Both were relieved when they realized only two boxes remained on the ground, waiting to be picked up and thrown away without a second thought. And their terminus would be the same as their predecessors, though its location was unknown to the Seraphim. They had no desire to find out.

It was Kratos who threw his last box into the door first. After discarding, he stepped to the side, folded his arms, and looked back, waiting for Yuan to do the same. The Renegade stepped forth until he was close to the exit. He stood there with a rather blank stare, making the occasion more extravagant than it needed to be. Something inside him was holding him back and delaying the command sent from his brain; the one telling his arms to fling the box into oblivion, but he had no clue what or why. Denying his instinct, Yuan shook his head and closed his eyes before throwing the materials away.

"Finally. We've made some good progress." Yuan wiped his hands together, as if cleaning dust from his palms.

But a glint caught his eye, even though they still remained closed. His head shot to the side and his cerulean hair swayed from the force of his movements as he peered at the box he most recently discarded. It was drifting farther and farther away with each breath. Some of the materials had fallen out of the box; mostly exspheres, with a random key crest or two floating pass. Suddenly, he gasped loudly, almost tearing his throat in half. He rammed his now sweat drenched hands into his pockets. They were empty.

He shook his head violently and frisked his own body, hoping to find the object of his concern and quell his fears. "Oh, Martel! No! Please! No!" cried the shaken Seraph, as if his voice would somehow command the ring to come back.

Kratos eyed Yuan suspiciously, rather frightened by such unusual behavior. Didn't take him long to realize something was amidst. He resisted the urge to ask questions, feeling it would only put the half elf into more of a frantic state. But he did feel uncomfortable watching Yuan in such delirium and being unable to do anything about it.

By this time, Yuan had searched his body several times in an indignant manner, even going so far as to search his boots and hair. His arms were soar and some red and bleeding scars decorated the places on his face and neck where he accidentally scratched himself. He reluctantly returned his gaze to the equipment drifting in outer space, fearing what his sense of sight would reveal. His angelic eyes widened in revere as he concluded his hypotheses and his heart sank to the lowest part of his being, still seeking to descend even further.

Without saying a word, he dropped to his knees; the landing created a sound that indicated the impact must have been painful, possibly even tangibly damaging, but his face was too distorted to see anything going through his mind. The half elf's body shook compulsively, as if he were having a seizure of tremendous proportions, and his hands became even more sweaty as his fingers scratched at the ground in a manner suggesting he were digging a grave. Blood puddled from under his nails and mixed with the dust, creating a dull brown colored blob of ooze.

Kratos could no longer remain silent as he was oblivious to the source of Yuan's dismay. "Yuan, what the hell is wrong with you?!" He still kept a distance as he planted his feet firmly into place, but prepared himself to move into action should a need arise.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words formed. His throat was drier than the Triet desert. "...ri...ri-" Coughing violently, he gasped for air as if it were too thick to transfer properly to his lungs and his eyes moistened with tears. Breathing was much more difficult than it should have been and he wouldn't have been surprised if his heart failed him as well. Parts of him wanted to jump into outer space and retrieve the ring, but even strengthened by his exsphere, the probability of a successful execution was slim to none. He was fully aware of it, and that's what hurt the most.

"What?!" The other Seraph grunted angrily, rather upset with not being able to make sense of the shaken Renegade's words. "I can not help if I do not know."

He had lost the ring once before, but it was found by compassionate hands. His stubborn actions had stopped him from finding it in the first place as his hostility put up an impenetrable shield of four thousand year's anger and regret.

Yuan's hair, ripped from its neatly tied ribbon as a result of his bodily ransacking, cascaded down and over his face, shielding any views to his still disheveled features. Sharp pains engulfed his chest, making it uncomfortable to inhale and nearly impossible to exhale. Frequently, he'd choke on the words he tried to articulate. He gave up trying to speak and went mute as he tried his best to control the erupt reactions, failing miserably.

Kratos turned to look out the emergency exit, for he remembered it was the last sight the elf half saw before breaking down. He spotted a glint of metallic light, the same Yuan had seen, and adjusted his eyes to fix upon the shape until he could make out the source of the problem or something familiar that would be kind enough to give him a hint. When he saw it, he sighed heavily, and returned his gaze to Yuan, still knelt on the floor. Martel's engagement was drifting further and further away, and neither of them could reach it in time. The situation was hopeless.

But now, there was no possible way he could retrieve it. Yuan looked up with glistening aquamarine eyes and tracked the path of the engagement ring until it became nonexistent. This time, it was gone for good.

Gone forever.

* * *

Oh noes! Kratos killed the last remaining angel on Derris Kharlan! But why was he so... out of it? And Yuan lost Martel's engagement ring for good! Highly doubt Lloyd will find it in space xD If you're still confused, he tripped over something and when he fell, the ring dropped into one of the boxes. Poor Yuan; he needs a hug -snuggles Yuan plushie- Oh wells. What will happen next? Only I know... and one other person, lol. All I'll say is this fan fiction earns its genre truthfully. Gonna keep my mouth shut though; you'll just have to wait and find out! Bwhahaha! Stay tuned for the next chapter!  



	3. Chapter 3

Hmm... 200+ hits and only five reviews. I feel so loved. -crawls into corner- Anyway. Yay! It's chapter three! ... Yeah, I'm thinking about two or three more chapters with the epilogue to finish this one. Chapter four will be my favorite chapter; I can tell already. You'll see when you read it. Bwhaha.

And after you read this, go check out **Project H.E.A.T., **a collaboration by Spiritua Masquerade and Dragonwings144. Why? Because it rocks and I said so.

Oh yeah. Did I mention I'll be leaving this Thursday for college? So, if I don't reply to private messages and stuff, that's why. Don't freak out.

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, the Flanoir Renegade Base would have been turned into an amusement park after the World Regeneration. Dibs on the Rhearids. _  
_

* * *

_Derris Kharlan. Population: Two That Remain._

In trying to save the world, he destroyed himself in the process and sought to create Paradise by corrupting everyone else's minds so none would rise and question his morals. Still, before he was finally put to rest, he proclaimed that if given the chance, he'd do it all over again, with even more determination than the last time. His two closest friends turned on him for his own good, while smiling in his face every day for four thousand years, but he didn't see it as such. It was more of an unfair betrayal. So in return, he betrayed the world.

Not much was said after the ring incident; silence was in abundance, but the look on the half elf's face never went away. Yuan didn't want to talk about it and Kratos, being the man that he is, chose not to push the subject. Hostility slowly decreased between them; it was more of an soundless understanding brought on by the loneliness of existing on a planet with no future. But it was the path they both choose on their owns, therefore, they had no right to complain or request a change of fate. The decision was final.

Pieces by piece, Mithos was gaining his revenge from beyond the grave, probably smiling with a smirk that would scare the devil himself. Such a sad sight to see two of the once most powerful Seraphim of all time, the rulers of the worlds, in miserable states. Luckily, they were alone in their demise; if anyone saw their domineers now, he'd be highly disappointed, almost disgusted to think such "warriors" were responsible for history. They ended wars, ceased thousands of lives, and saved the world. Was this how all heros ended up? How could anyone do such a thing to himself?

It was Kratos who spoke first. The area where they rested was dark; most of the equipment had been disposed of and only a few rooms remained. Each sat on the floor, backs against the cold wall, eyes closed in deep meditation as if praying to a Goddess both knew never existed.

"Yuan." Kratos had his head on his knees, but his voice made it through to his companion's ears.

"Yes?" replied the half elf.

"What... will we do?"

Yuan opened his eyes and looked up with a confused squint in his gaze. "Wh-what? What are you talking about?"

"After this, after we clean up this equipment, what will we do?" He was truly interested in his answer, for he already had a plan for his own future.

"Well, that's a rather strange question."

"Does that mean you don't have an answer?"

Though Kratos was correct, Yuan wasn't about to let him know. "There's much more to do on Derris Kharlan. I have enough time to think about it."

Kratos sighed. "Yuan, almost every room is done. All that remains is Mithos' castle. Once that's complete, our lives will be meaningless. Even more than they are now."

"You damned fool!" Yuan shot back. "I thought Lloyd already got it through your thick skull that every life has meaning."

The auburn haired Seraph growled and stood to his feet, glaring at Yuan as if he had just said something unthinkable. How dare someone use the word of his own son against him? "I know that! The meaning of my life was to give birth to the true salvation of this world: the real hero, the one who made up for all my... _stupid_ mistakes! And I did that, costing my wife's life!" He ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths. "What more do you want from me?!"

Yuan jumped in his seat, surprised at Kratos' ill will. Both had reasons to be irritated and there was the possibility that it would pass on to their words, but this speech was different from the others.

"..."

"I... know that." He hung his head down, closing his eyes as a burning sensation pierced the back of his eyelids. "But now that my destiny is complete, there is no meaning in my life anymore," Kratos added as he clenched his fist with no intention of striking anyone. "My purpose has been fulfilled."

Two and two came together. "Quit babbling and get to the point," Yuan replied, breaking eye contact with his companion. He pulled his knees up to his chest as if trying to suffocate himself. Something on the inside gripped his heart, telling him he wouldn't like what Kratos had to say, but eventually, he'd have to hear it anyway. "Then what do you want to do with your future?"

"I can not plan what I don't have."

"You have a future. On... Derris Kharlan..." Though the validity of his comment was nonexistent, he felt it was worth lying to keep a friend, for he wouldn't know what he'd do if he were to lose another soul that was dear to him... again.

"This planet's future ended with Mithos." Truthfully, the man did not belong on the planet. Derris Kharlan was the root of all elven blood; no place for a human. He was an outsider to begin with.

"Then what?"

Kratos released his fist and took in a deep breath, folding his arms to give the illusion that he was calm and collected. In reality, his mind and spirit were in complete chaos, rioting like opposing forces when they should have been working together. "I need you to perform the Reverse Ritual."

Suddenly, Yuan's head shot up and he inhaled so hard it nearly collapsed his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, almost falling back down and stood in front of Kratos. "You've got to be kidding me! You're not talking about the Aionis Reverse Ritual!"

Returning Yuan's fiery gaze with one of his own, he nodded. "I do," was all he replied. "The process can only be done by someone with elven blood. Besides, only you, Martel, and Mithos know how to do it."

"But that'll remove all the Aionis from your body and..." His eyes were wide with shock, as if he had just seen and heard the most horrible thing known to man. And in a way, he had.

"After that, I need you to remove my Cruxis Crystal and destroy it. My body will commence growing."

"But, you'll die from that! You call that a future?!"

"One much better than yours."

Yuan scoffed. "How can anyone have a future in death?"

"I can."

"But... you have to live..." He shook his head with a confused look taking over his face. Messy cerulean hair waged back and forth like a Weeping Willow in the breeze, while beads of sweat ran down his forehead, glistening against the small amount of light coming from a piece of equipment in a far corner.

"Yuan," Kratos pleaded. "This is not living. This is... existing far beyond the time I was originally allotted."

The half elf grew angry; Kratos was reverting back to his old ways of thinking and he couldn't stand it. "If you want to die so badly," he grunted, reaching behind his back to reveal his double-edged blade, "why not let me do it? It'll be much quicker."

"Because," the Seraph retorted with an un-flinched stance, "number one, you don't have the strength to do it. Number two, I'd like to die with dignity."

Yuan backed up, closing his eyes to hide the pain in his gaze and pushed a button on the hilt, collapsing his sword and replacing it in a location only he knew about. "Hmph. Dignity."

Dignity. Honor. Respect. Three words Cruxis seemed to manipulate so much that they lost meaning and purpose; words more distorted than anything the Seraphim had seen over their life spans, ones that birthed confusion in the minds of hundreds, thousands, millions, one too many.

"Please..."

Something in Kratos' voice made the half elf gasp. He returned his gaze to his companion, anticipating the next words to come from his mouth as if the blasphemy he had already spoken hadn't been enough. The man was pleading; it had been a long time since he heard such a word escape Kratos' lips or even his own, a word that usually denoted one was asking for help, as if he had lost all hope. Finally he came to realize: Yuan was his last hope.

"Let me die with my humanity. My morality."

Both were deprived of their morality: Kratos of his humanity, and Yuan was cursed to share the blood of two races. Even only sharing half of his companion's heritage, he could sympathize. All around them, for all those years, they watched others live, grow, love, lose, and then die; the slow progression of life in the way it was originally to be intended to be spent. While most would give anything for eternal life, they knew better. They were fully aware of how it felt and hated every moment of it for they had to suffer through watching the world go into demise, but not only watch, play Puppet Master in so many deaths and fueled the flames of hatred brought on by the past.

He bit down on his bottom lip, muttering Angelic curses under his breath. Saying nothing, he turned on his heels and sashayed out of the room, slamming his fist into the wall on the way out and left a large dent.

Kratos lowered his head, placing his hand on where his Flamberge's hilt would be. Closing his eyes, his mind filled with memories of the past and he nodded idly to himself.

"Thank you."

- - - - - -

Welgaia's library remained untouched for more reasons than one. Mainly because reading was a way to pass the time and for the fact that knowledge was a terrible thing to waste, even if it were lies. Millions of book lined the shelves; more books than stars in the sky, more pages than every dream ever dreamt, and some more informative than others.

The room was dusty and a bit ransacked, as if a series of fights broke out in strategic locations all around. Furniture lay in a disheveled manner; chairs were on the floor, upside down, tables broken in half with their legs separated, windows cracked, and even its entrance suffered some damage.

As did the other sections, the atmosphere dripped with an eerie lack of light just like the exsphere storage room, where the blood of the last remaining angel still adorned the walls for neither had the courage nor the decency to clean it off. It made Yuan feel as if the walls were closing in and the sky was ready to crumble, crushing him to death; the air was too thick to breath, causing him to cough. Silent whispers played tricks on his angelic ears and he spoke to himself for the sole purpose of draining out the sounds. Occasionally, he'd halt to inspect the room, arm extended around his back and sweaty hands gripping his weapon, the only thing he could trust. Even that could possibly betray him. Everyone else did.

The doctrine of his own self confidence continued to deteriorate with every step he took, just as Derris Kharlan drifted away from Kyoushin's gravitational pull. The half elf had little more to hold on to; nothing else remained. While everyone was back in the new world hopefully enjoying their new lives, he and another fool just as senile as himself thought it best to occupy the empty halls of the world's first Angelic Hell. He was unable to share in their smiling faces, actually, he couldn't remember the last time he had grinned or gave any visual sign that he was unworried. Had to be years ago... before the Church of Martel, before exspheres, before everything became a matter of sacrificing one for the "greater good." But one turned into two, and two into four, and four into many more, until it was too late and murder became an afterthought: a justifiable afterthought.

It took years to raise those children: those Chosens. Their marriages were controlled and demanded, they were unable to pick the place of their own residence, taught years of lies, ridiculed, shaped in predetermined images, and sent on a Journey to die. So many times he had seen them slaughtered right before his eyes; their screams embedded in his head like a song of torment. He even slashed the throats of a few himself. But that was different... they were going to die anyway upon reaching the Tower of Salvation until the perfect vessel was created. Yes, his hands were blood stained, but he was not ultimately responsible for filling yet another lonely coffin. In another light, he was a strong person; it takes a massive amount of courage to murder a child and feel no regret for it. Deep down, he was everything he didn't want to be: a traitor, for betraying his friends, a murderer, for destroying families to prevent the Chosens from fulfilling their destinies, killing all those seeds, and a friend, for the wrong people. But there are some that still call him a hero.

He made his way to the back of the library, though it felt more like a dungeon. Only thing missing was the dragon waiting to devour him, but maybe even it would find his soul unworthy of consuming. Death was the last thing he wanted to worry about and he proceeded to a forgotten section. His destination seemed to glow in his eyes, a sort of incandescence drawing him closer. In silence, he pulled the book of interest from its location on the shelf. His fingers failed to grip tightly enough at first; it fell to the ground like a rock, landing on its spine. Yuan stepped back just in time to avoid having his toes soften its landing. The pages spread open like a sudden burst of flame. By the old, dead smell it released, one could conclude the book's age surpassed time itself, as if it was never created for it merely existed alongside Origin.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He bent down to retrieve it as he put his hand against his pounding heart. The book was indeed heavy, almost as heavy as his sword and he struggled to maneuver his fingers under to pick it up. When he did, he moved it over to a table and dropped it, letting gravity guide the fall. A dust cloud shot from under the landing area. Yuan waved it away from his breathing space, coughing a few times in the process. He pulled a chair from the floor, checked the stability, and sat down to begin reading.

Realizing he lacked the ability to see in the dark, he reached into his pocket to reveal a candle. A quick lightning spell and the wick flickered before igniting. Soft orange light illuminated his reading area, giving a mysterious glow in the room. He felt as if he were in hiding; a criminal doing things he shouldn't have been doing and afraid of being discovered. Sometimes, he caught himself looking up and checked his surroundings upon hearing what he suspected to be noises coming from inside the book shelves. The horror of finding another angel was unbearable for he had enough to deal with. Maybe what he was doing really was wrong.

Nimble fingers flipped through the pages while angelic eyes scanned each line until he finally found what he was looking for: the list of ingredients for Ritual. He marked the page and looked around the table.

"... Probably should have brought some paper with me."

With a shrug, he proceeded to rip out a few pages from the book and folded them, stuffing the wad into his pocket somewhere in the dark abyss of his cape. Not like anyone else would need the book.

He stood up, pushing the chair back and exited the room. Now he was on another mission... hunting for the death of his only comrade. Many doubts filled his head, but he shook them off. Somehow, he convinced himself that he had no right to deny Kratos' final wish; there was no future on Derris Kharlan, and his destiny had been indeed fulfilled. But why did Yuan still feel regretful? If what he was doing was right, why was he in such pain?

- - - - -

This process would not be without pain, even though it would be the easiest part. Losing one's immorality, just like gaining it, was dangerous. But in losing, Kratos was gaining a part of himself that he'd missed for over four thousand years. Finally, he'd feel that gentle caress of fatigue at the end of the day, the soft darkness of slumber, and the taste of hunger; free to do as the rest of his race enjoyed. If only for a moment.

Yuan began his preparations in a large room, better known as the remnants of the Great Seed Chamber. Much consideration went into choosing the location. If he had his way, he'd be in another area, anywhere but here. During this process, Kratos would be unable to move, partially from pain, mainly for his own safety. First his fiancé, now his fellow Seraph would die in this room. _Damn you, Fate. You who continue to torment me._

He sat on the ground and started a fire in the center of the room, throwing a handful's ingredients into a large pot of boiling water. He worked idly and in silence; his gaze never met Kratos', and if it did, it would be a blank glare. His hands had a mind of their own. Throughout his preparations, his neck moved not once as if stuck in place. Then again, only strange criminals make small talk with their victim, even if the victim was willing, able, and anxiously awaiting Spiritua's Kiss of Death.

Somewhere, Yuan didn't question exactly where for he could care less, Kratos found a long, knee-length, linen white robe to change into. In another room, he stripped from his current attire, the white Judgment suit so many had seen, and many more learned to fear; the clothing that marked him as a Seraph of Cruxis when he first received it all those years ago. A gift from Yggdrasill, symbolizing their union. He took another look and smirked a sarcastic farewell, before throwing it to the side. He was one step closer to becoming his old self: a weak human, and he couldn't be more content.

"Tell me." The half elf dropped in the last bit and used a stray piece of pipe to stir the concoction. Its smell was horrible beyond belief, but it was the least of his worries and he found the strength to endure. The musical sounds of bubbling filled the atmosphere.

"What do you wish to know?" Kratos had just entered the room again, adorned in his new white robe, and took a seat on the steps of the Chamber.

"There's another reason you're doing this."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"Why, Kratos?"

He sighed. "I told you why. I've no future here."

Yuan dropped the utensil to the side and wiped excess white satay from his palms. "You knew that before you even stepped on that teleporter at the Tower of Salvation."

"Possibly."

"Don't play stupid with me. The least you could do is have the decency to give me a straight answer. You're about to die for Martel's sake!" His face winced as he growled under his breath, turning his face in the opposite direction of Kratos.

"Heh," muttered the auburn mercenary. "And I actually thought I could take it to my grave."

"There has to be another reason." Yuan made it clear by the tone of his voice that he wanted to know the reason; what kind of justification could Kratos have for leaving him with such a task? Why did Yuan have to help him die?

Kratos shifted his weight on the steps, turning his gaze to the wall. His eyes shot from mark to mark, examining all the disfigurations that decorated its surface. "I put him through enough already."

"Who?"

"... Lloyd. Ever since he was born, he's had to make up for my errors."

Crossing his legs and folding his arms, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped before the fresh air could reach his lungs. It was no use trying to convince the man otherwise. "What about Lloyd?"

"I did it once, but I cannot let that mistake happen again. He already watched me die once. Anna would never forgive me if I did it to him again."

A grunt and Yuan decided he had heard enough. The pot was boiling; smooth, white steam rose to the top and dissipated. He grabbed a small cup sitting next to his leg and proceeded to pour a small bit of the mixture inside. It was a deep brown in color, thick like a soup, smelling even more horrible than it had inside the pot. Small pieces of leaves floated on the top; some stems levitated in the middle as if too heavy to reach the top and too light to sink. Averting his eyes, he stood to his feet, walked over to Kratos, and handed it over.

Before Kratos could grab it, the half elf snatched it back. Kratos tilted his head in confusion for a moment before sighing and folding his arms, arm still extended to receive the cup. How could expect his companion to show no signs of discontent over the situation? Truly, the mercenary couldn't be so selfish to believe such a thing.

"... Kratos," whispered Yuan in a soft voice. Facing the opposite direction, he hid the pain from his face, but from his tone, everything was clear. He knew this process was irreversible and felt he was obligated to say something before this man met his demise. He thought deeply for a moment; out of all three languages he possessed a fluent comprehension of, none had words that could describe his melancholy veneer with the accuracy for which he hoped. The half elf was given only one chance by fate to give a speech before it was too late. It was more of an issue of what he wanted Kratos to remember him with: what last words before the pain of morality struck his friend like a storm. What could quiet his conscious? What could give him solace? _What can I say?_

"Yes, Yuan?"

"Good by-..." He hesitated as his tongue smashed the root of his mouth. _No, not that. Not yet. _"Go-good luck."

With that, he released the cup's handle and darted from the room before Kratos could even bring the confection to his lips.

* * *

Had I told you what request Kratos makes, I would have spoiled the surprise. Don't worry; there are more surprises in store. Am I the only who finds Yuan slamming his fist into the wall extremely hot? O.o I feel sorry for him though. He has to not only watch Kratos suffer, but help him. -snuggles Yuan plushie- But, yeah. Derris Kharlan has no future, and after the equipment is gone, what are they gonna do? Play Uno for the rest of their lives? I dun think so. And about the Spiritua reference for those of you who are completely confused: Spiritua is the Angel of Death, remember? So "Spiritua's Kiss" would ultimately mean the Kiss of Death. Clever. Yes, I know. Even if it's not, nod your head and pretend anyway. 

Stay tuned for chapter 4, which will be my personal favorite chapter. Until then, TOOTLES.


	4. Chapter 4

First, let me start by saying: YES! OH MARTEL, YES! I've finally moved into my dorm (really long story involved in that) and got my internet hooked up. It's been four days since I've been on, and I'll admit, I was going insane from boredom. You've no idea. Yes. I'm a computer junkie. Damn proud of it. ♥ And I'm sure my inbox is full with emails. But, anyway, onward, men!

Wheee! Chapter four! Like I said, this is one of my favorite chapters. Chapter five should be the last (assuming I don't get a random writing hook that spans over seven pages: the usual length of each chapter), which is currently being revised and edited to my liking, followed by an epilogue. After this is over, I'm gonna start typing up chapter two of When Students Become Teachers. I wasn't planning on it being so popular xD

Oh yeah. A lot of people have mentioned how easy it would be to make this into a yaoi. And I gotta admit: they're right o.o I already said this version would be yaoi/shonen-ai free, but I also promised a few friends I'd make a separate yaoi version. Wouldn't even start typing it until this is finished. Dunno if I'll post it on here or not. -shrug-

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, there would be a Tales of Symphonia 2 (besides Tales of Phantasia).

* * *

In every strength, there is a weakness. In every person, there is a weakness that another wishes he could acquire: the ability to turn a blind eye to suffering, the power to chastise others for one's mistakes and feel no guilt over it, the will to do as one pleases, no matter the cost. Every light has a darkness that covers up a pitfall laying in the road that one does not realize until he has fallen in and finds himself trapped, waiting to be rescued by something even stronger than himself. But not all can be rescued; not all can be saved. 

Things started out slowly. As expected, Kratos went into a fever with temperatures far beyond any human could withstand. The Aionis had to be separated from the blood. Lacking the resources for a much less painful procedure, the fever was induced to boil the man's body, like a roast over a roaring fire. His flesh became hot to the touch and his sweat evaporated before it even stroked his skin. When he spoke, his dry throat caused his words to sound as if his wry tongue were a rusty nail scrapping against a chalkboard. Despite this, Yuan sat and listened attentively, fearing which sounds would be Kratos' last.

"Wh-...why.." Kratos lay on a makeshift bed: three layers of the thickest blankets Yuan could find and a pillow made from a piece of an angel's robe stuffed with some stray feathers. He tried to sit up, but his head began to feel dizzy. He moaned and laid back down.

"Why what, Kratos?" Yuan threw his cerulean hair back behind his shoulders and wrapped the shorter strands around his ear. The band that had once held his locks in an infamous ponytail had finally given way, breaking into four pieces in his hands. Still, he found himself unable to throw it away as if it were some sort of sacred trash which deserved a more formal way of discarding. Each of the dry, torn pieces sat in his pocket.

"...m-my..." He coughed twice violently, then moaned and brought his shaken hands to his head, attempting to rub out the headache that decided to wreck havoc.

Yuan fixed his cape over Kratos. "Don't speak if it'll cause you more pain." Even more painful than words spoken are the ones unspoken; the things that are kept secret from everyone else, the shadows blocking out Truth's light. So much could have been avoided if only they were brave enough to speak, daring enough to speak against corruption.

He shook his head, his fingers still rubbing against his temples. "No," he replied with a gruff voice. "...cru-Cruxis... crys-tal..."

"Your Cruxis Crystal?"

Kratos nodded and grunted. "Y-yes."

"If you're asking whether or not I took it off, the answer is no. I haven't touched it." Closing his eyes, Yuan folded his arms and sighed to himself. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously, anticipating his companion's next horrifying request.

The Seraph moaned in disappointment and turned his head to face Yuan whose eyes were still shut. Feeling a brown gaze on himself, he opened a single eye. "Why?"

"Because," the half elf retorted, shutting his eye again, "you told me to do it _after _the Ritual. And the Ritual is not over until all of the Aionis is removed from your body."

"Do it."

"What?" said Yuan, pretending not to comprehend.

"Do it," Kratos repeated as slowly rose a hand to his stomach, slid his palm against his chest, and rubbed the Cruxis Crystal adorned on the flat on his neck.

"No. I already told you: I'll do it after the Ritual. Stop trying to make things more problematic for yourself. You're already in enough pain to begin with." Yuan reached over and smacked Kratos' hand away from the Cruxis Crystal, placing it to his side. "I'll do as you ask. Don't worry."

He wasn't completely satisfied with the response, but he was in no position to oppose. The fever clouded his senses, making it impossible to think straight, and even if he were able to get hold of a weapon, his flesh would surely burn through the metal. Right now, Kratos was in the complete care of Yuan, having no choice but to pray for mercy. Not even his Crystal could save him.

"Bu-" Suddenly, he shot up and clutched his waist as if he had just been punched. He forced himself to stand, fighting the excruciating heat wave that flushed his face. Yuan looked on in horror and stood himself, preparing to tend to Kratos any way he could. When Kratos brought his hand to his mouth, Yuan finally realized the process had begone and sat back down with his knees to his chest, placing his forehead on top. It only blocked his vision, but the sounds were far worse. Kratos desperately ran into another room and forced the door closed, half expecting to be followed. The half elf embraced his body, wincing whenever he heard Kratos cough. There was only one way the Aionis could be extracted from the human body.

A few moments later, the door opened and Kratos returned from the room. He leaned against the sill, clinging on to support his body as if for dear life. His hair was even more disheveled than usual; some auburn strands pushed against his cheek, only making him feel warmer than he was comfortable feeling. The once flawlessly white robe was soiled, some stains from rubbing against equipment, but most from himself. He took deep breaths in, exhaling with a rheumatic tempo through his nose.

Yuan scrambled to his feet and ran over to him before the mercenary could fall to his knees. He caught him, placing one of his arms under Kratos' for support, and wrapped it around the man's waist. Then, both slowly walked back to the bed. He helped Kratos on the bed, fixing the pillow to the best of his ability and replaced the cape.

The ordeal exhausted Kratos, but he had much more to endure. He bit on his bottom lip and coughed. "...how... much... more?" His eyes were closed, yet Yuan could see the pain flowing through them.

"I don't know. It depends on how much Aionis you ingested. Could take anywhere from a few days to a year." Yuan returned to chewing his inner cheek, suppressing the guilt of even honoring Kratos with a reply. It was amazing that he could even use such words because, being denied slumber for so long, he had forgotten how to measure time. He had forgotten how a full day felt like; time just seemed to be bunched together, a never ending saga of existence with no end in sight. Until now.

Kratos groaned and turned on his opposite side. "N-no... matter how long... it wouldn't be soon... enough."

Yuan growled. "And be quiet. If you're talking while you throw up, you run the risk of choking and possibly dy-..." The last word hit him like a brick wall; a winded smack to the face and his eyes twitched as if he physically felt the damage.

The other said nothing, for no words needed to be spoken, and even if they were, they would only make the situation far more unbearable than it already was. Something inside of Kratos lost hold of hope and shattered on the lifeless remnants of his destiny. Refusing to turn around, he shifted around on his side and closed his eyes.

"I'll be back." The half elf stood to his feet and brushed off the dust soiling the bottom of his pants. A reflex reached for the cape covering Kratos, but he denied it. He turned on his heels, heading out the room without another word.

- - - - - - -

Yuan roamed the empty halls of Derris Kharlan as if he were a tourist of the most unfortunate sort. There was nothing to see, other than the twitching and tantalizing twinkle of stars as the planet floated further into space. There was nothing to hear, besides the sounds of his own rhythmic footsteps, pounding against the ground like a steady drum. Despite this, he ventured on into the familiar corridors and looked around as if expecting to see something new, turning random corners in no particular order. Every so often, he'd enter a room, only to find it completely empty or dusty beyond belief and close it with a scoff of disappointment. He even kicked equipment laying on the ground in his way.

Then he stopped when he entered a room that was different. With a curious and confused look on his face, Yuan stepped inside and looked around. He ran his palm over the wall and found the light switch, which, surprisingly, still functioned. On the walls were rows of shelves, lined with books; no space was left to waste as each book was pressed in. A table sat in the middle, surrounded by six or seven wooden chairs and a desk in the far right corner.

"Must have missed this room," he mumbled to himself while making a mental note to clear it out later.

Upon further inspection, he concluded the room must have belonged to Mithos. The upkeep was superb, compared to the rest of the planet, and the walls were lined with gold. It was more like a shrine: a statue of Spiritua sat on top of the table, along with a Seal Book, and a picture of Martel; candles and flowers that seemed to be alive lined the perimeter. Yuan walked over to the table, moving in closer to examine the plants. A touch and smell confirmed his suspicions. He sighed, removing the exsphere shard that had been placed in the soil. Immediately, the flower wilted; petals turned to ashes, raining over the table top. He didn't bother to wipe it off. No, it wasn't worth it.

The shrine left a bitter taste in his mouth. He moved his attention to the book cases. Yuan ran his fingers across the bindings, stopping when his flesh or eyes hit something of interest. Randomly, he pulled out a few books and threw them on the table to review later. This process continued for a while until he had two, ten book high stacks of literature.

"That should be enough." Yuan stretched out his arms, but stopped when he heard something hit the ground. He looked down to view another book he must have knocked over. Bending over to pick it up, he inspected the surface for a title, finding none. The coat was completely bare; not even labeled with a name or anything that would indicate the owner.

It was pretty basic: covered with leather, artificially dyed blue, solid binding, and in mint condition. Flipping through the pages revealed the mysterious book to in fact be a journal. About a hundred lined pages filled the inside; though, none of them were used. With a small smile, he added the journal to his pile, ransacked the desk for a quill with ink pot, and headed back to Kratos, feeling he had neglected the man for far too long.

Little did he know, he had been gone for a week.

- - - - - - -

"Here." Yuan entered the room and walked over to Kratos, placing the pile of books within his reach.

Kratos opened his eyes, flipping over to view the half elf. Moving his auburn hair from his field of vision, his gaze scanned the stack of literature with curiosity. Some of the book he recognized, while others were a complete mystery. He propped his body up using his elbow as support.

"Books. I'm sure you've heard of them," said the half elf sarcastically, sitting down.

"Heh. I know," he replied. Kratos felt a bit of relief from the fever, if only for a moment. "Interesting time to pick up reading." The pressure on his bones became too intense and he fell back down on his side, grunting in discomfort.

"They aren't for me. They're for you." Reaching for the top, Yuan retrieved the journal and opened up one of the ink pots with nimble fingers, careful not to spill any on himself. He tested a quill on a sheet of paper and dusted it off the feathers before scooting closer to Kratos' bed, placing the inked quill inside as a page marker. "Along with this."

"What is it?"

"A journal." He handed the book over, helping Kratos open to the first clean page.

"And what purpose will a journal serve me?"

"Write in it. Writing helps clear the mind."

Kratos grunted. "If that's the case, where's your journal?"

Reaching over for a random book, Yuan replied with an aquamarine glare, "I don't need one." He opened it and began reading about Elven Fairytales: of how the Goddess Martel grew angry with the people of Sylvarant, and a great famine took over the land, of how a single drop of oil caused a fire, of dreams coming true, of animals joining together to present the Goddess with a sacrifice of their own. These were the stories Martel put Mithos to bed with, and, occasionally, Yuan himself, but in their new twisted form. He found himself correcting mistakes in his head as he read line after line. There was no doubt that this book had been edited by Yggdrasill as a part of the literature taught to the Chosen and the children who attended Mass at the Martel Chapel. Becoming disgusted, he slammed the book shut and threw it half way across the room, rather reluctant to pick up another.

The sound of Kratos sighing caught Yuan's attention. He caught glimpse of the journal: at least two pages had been written on. Some was in his native tongue, while, somewhere in the middle, it drifted into the Angelic language. Kratos didn't give Yuan long to read much before closing the journal and sticking it under his pillow.

"Done already?" Yuan asked.

"For now." He rubbed his temples, running his fingers through his hair which was insulating the already insane heat of his body. "I believe the Ritual is over."

Yuan's face grimaced. "I'm sure you do."

"Yuan... please. Just check. Please."

"You don't make anything easy, do you?" The half elf stood to his feet, moving closer to Kratos. He reached over and took one of his arms with no resistance from the mercenary. Then, he revealed his sword and proceeded to run the edge against Kratos' arm, who winched from the pain, but made no complaints. Within seconds, blood puddled before running down his flesh. Yuan retrieved a small sample, extracting it into a cup.

Yuan didn't even have to say anything. The way his face darkened told the story. After bandaging the wound, he forced the man on his back violently. The half elf moved like a robot; his eyes stayed distant from Kratos', but his nimble fingers proceeded, while his heart questioned his motives. _Why the hell am I doing this?..._

- - - - - - - _  
_

To say he was in pain would be an understatement. With no Aionis in his blood, he was unable to use any form of healing arts nor could he wield magic. First Aid would have come in handy just as Grave would have been rather appropriate for the situation. He began to question his own decision: contemplating whether or not he should wait for Death to visit him naturally or if it would be best for him to meet Him halfway.

With the Cruxis Crystal removed, aging started from the inside out, but the outside was the most visual. His skin wrinkled and his once luxurious auburn hair died down to a gruff shade of gray before turning as white as virgin Flanoir snow. Things like standing became a challenge; so many times the mercenary would stumble to his knees, waiting on assistance from the half elf. Yuan felt more like he was caring for a sickly child, and in a way, he was, but nonetheless, he took his care taking responsibilities to heart, devoting all of his time and attention to the ailing Seraph.

Sooner after, Kratos started to crave something he had not in an eternity and he found his lips parched, as dry as the sun. There was no food on the planet for none was needed, as well as no means of growing any. Even if they could, the growing process would take far too long. By the time the plants matured, it would be too late. Far too late. Hunger only made the situation worse; his stomach complained, but there was something he or Yuan could do.

Light seemed to flee from the once Great Seed Chamber. Not even the stars provided an adequate amount of it and Yuan found himself relying on his other four senses to guide his body in the room. At that point, he felt there was no use in finding more candles to combat the darkness; the less he could see, the less he would remember. The less memories, the less nightmare that could haunt his dreams, for he too considered abandoning his immorality for a more formal departure from life.

Kratos shook convulsively on the ground and his breathing ranged from audible to unsteady; he grasped the sheets as if trying to rip them apart, moaning in agony at random times. The sweat decreased to a minimum; it took too much energy and his lost of hope affected him on a physical level: even his body had lost all hope for survival.

"... how... long...has...it...been...?" the Seraph whispered from his bed, taking in a deep breath before each word. He didn't want an answer, but the silence was too heavy. Maybe the sound of his companion's voice would bring life to the inevitable death in the room.

Yuan perked up and straightened his back. "How long has what been, Kratos?"

The man sighed, shifting his weight on the blankets. "Heh. Ma-maybe... I should... have... let... y-you... kill me."

He was taken aback by such a comment; half disappointed and half disgusted. Could death really bring out such a sense of doubt in a person; even the greatest warriors of all time? Balling his fist and shaking it into the darkness, he replied, "You're not worth killing, Kratos. Not like this."

"You... wanted to... before," said Kratos, closing his eyes.

"That was a long time ago. Plus, you fought back." Yuan released his fist and folded his arms, straightening his back against the wall directly behind him. Legs stretched out, he looked to the side. "If I wanted to kill you, I could. We both know that. But that would take away your dignity. That's what you told me: 'I'd like to die with dignity'. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm letting you die with your dignity. Your Martel-forsaken Dignity."

The room was quiet for a while. Yuan refused to move and Kratos was unable to, no matter how much he desired. Both found a brand new appreciation in freedom: the ability to move at one's will and having nothing, not sickness, not restraints, hindering one's way. The half elf, still in possession of his Cruxis Crystal, had retained his wings; he could fly anywhere, but everything on the planet, he had seen. And for what purpose would he want to wander around the biggest mistake to ever hit Symphonia? Whenever he released his transparent wings, Kratos would grimace, and Yuan could swear that the mercenary's eyes glistened with tears. _Was he crying?_

"Yuan." Kratos decided to break the silence.

"What?" replied the half elf, still a bit upset about their previous conversation, but had no intentions of resurrecting it.

"I'd... like to write... in my journal." With tremendous effort, he lifted his head and reached under his pillow, pulling out the book. He laid it in the area he predicted the quill and ink to be.

The half elf though for a moment with a confused look before finally the request made sense. "You need a candle to see?"

"Yes. Please." Kratos nodded, throwing in the last word with only half the volume of his first.

Yuan stood and reached into his pocket, fumbling around for a candle. His fingers caressed the side; dried wax bubbled down indicating it had been used more than once. He felt the length, concluding that it was almost gone; the light would only last for a bit longer, maybe an hour, and he had no knowledge concerning the location of any more. He bit his bottom lip, deciding whether or not to inform Kratos of his discovery: what if he were merely moments before death and desired to document his last thoughts in his journal, only to find out that no light remained? The sounds of his companion broke his train of thought. He decided to proceed and kept it a secret. Maybe this secret wouldn't be as painful as the others he kept for four thousand years. _Forgive me, Kratos. _

He walked over to the mercenary who was all ready to begin filling the blank pages with his thoughts, feelings, concerns, discoveries, and confessions. Kratos moved into a more comfortable position: sitting up and employing the last of his strength to pull his body closer to the stairs, using the edge for support. Yuan stuffed the candle into a base and lit the wink after asking Kratos where to place it. Shaken fingers gripped the abscessed quill feathers as he dipped it into the opened ink pot.

"Is there something wrong?" Kratos asked, noticing Yuan was staring at him. Despite his rapid aging, the mercenary still maintained his strong, brown gaze and his eyes glistened with concern.

"Uh, nothing," Yuan lied. He stepped out of the field of orange candlelight and returned to his dark corner, waiting to be called on. "Just hurry up. If you waste wax, don't expect me to go running around looking for another candle."

With a nod, Kratos picked up the subtle hint and began writing his thoughts. He knew he was running out of time, and he doubted he would last longer than the candle that illuminated his space.

- - - - - - -

_ In the depths of my mind, I find that there is nothing strong enough to subdue my own conscious. Being my age, one would conclude that loneliness is but an afterthought, when in truth, I've only learned how to ignore it. And even having time to think, I can not determine whether or not, if given the option, I'd change the past. Since the answer is open ended, I will not dandle on it. I do not intend to spend the last of my human existence with a grim nature. _

_ I don't know how long it has been, nor do I have the desire to find the amount. My time is running out and I am fully aware of it. My strength has abandoned me; where I am going, I will not need it. Dying has given me a sense of comfort; no longer will I be forced into anyone else's ideals. My eyes have seen things they should not have, my ears have played audience to the wrong words, and my existence is far too expatiated for my own good. Life is such a precious thing, something I've, no, we've taken for granted. For that, I've punished myself with loneliness and have dragged my only companion into this forsaken form of salvation. Yuan, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Death is not my sacrifice, it is my reward. Now, I can rest._

_- Excerpt from Kratos' Journal._

* * *

Awww! Breaks my heart to see Kratos in such agony. Breaks my heart even more because I've typed up the last chapter and I know what's gonna happen XD I are teh evil. Yuan nursing Kratos is so smecky! -fangirl scream- Can you imagine him with his hair out of that ponytail, thrown behind his shoulder? Go ahead and think about it for a second...now stop drooling. 'Twas gonna give Kratos a diary, but that isn't very manly, so a journal will have to do. Dude. I'd give anything for Kratos' journal. Screw that; I'd give anything for Kratos. 

Oh, yeah. Just a side note I reread this and thought it sounded a bit "weird." Kratos threw up the Aionis. ...Think that's everything. If not, send me a message and I'll clarify. But if something doesn't make sense, try reading it over again. I try to make everything as descriptive as possible

I leave little hints in my writing; not exactly spoilers, but subtle hints as what will happen next and allusions to scenes in the game. Is anyone picking them up? Cuz I don't want them to confuse you or have it sound retarded. Meh. Oh well.

Oh noes! What will happen next?! Will Yuan peep at Kratos' journal? Will Derris Kharlan asplode? Will Kratos and Yuan make out in the corner?! No, but let the yaoi fangirls dream. xD

...I've forgotten what else I wanted to say...Oh, well. Until next time, TOOTLES. It's almost 11 and I've eight hours of classes tomorrow, first starting at 1 PM.


	5. Chapter 5

GAH! I hate my new ISP. Grr. Long story. Anyway: YAY! It's chapter five of Angelic Sacrifice! -cue music- We're almost to a close; aww, how sad! Been thinking about the yaoi version too: dunno if I'm gonna yaoi-fy the entire story or just the last few chapters, but I've got a few good ideas.

Another reading assignment. Go check out **A Single Drop of Purity, **a collab by Spiritua Masquerade and Holyknightsteve. Why? Do you even have to ask?

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Origin's seal wouldn't be on the outskirts of nowhere, deep in a mind-numbing forest.

* * *

It was time for the waiting game. Destiny was pleased with the path She set before them, finding no regrets for the pitfalls that stood in their ways. Fate smiled to Himself, bragging about the choices He forced the Seraphim to make. And Death sat and looked upon the man in his state of demise, as he inched closer and closer to the door from which none have returned. His lips curved into a grin, calling out the name He had been waiting upon for far too long; the one that escaped from the grave, the only human to make a fool of Him. _Kratos Aurion. The time has come. Finally, I've won._

The candle ran out, but Kratos continued writing. Yuan looked on in surprise as he heard the sounds of scribbling in the darkness. Even without the lights, he could tell that the mercenary's words were important to him. The inkpot's reservoir became more and more shallow as the quill wore out, barely surviving the abuse of intense, yet delicate handwriting; Yuan worried that Kratos would run out of ink or the quill would give way before his great work was complete, having no knowledge of possible replacements. He was curious as to the words that were contained within the pages of the diary of a dying angel, but felt viewing without permission would be an invasion of privacy far beyond forgiveness and he had no intention of asking for said permission. Whatever Kratos needed to get off his conscious was his business, and if he were involved, surely he would be notified.

Water. It was the only thing left on the planet, the only thing to repress Kratos' starvation, if only for a moment. The hunger consumed him with four thousand year's retribution, growing more and more untamed with each passing instant. He mumbled incoherently to himself, moving around as if the feeling of fatigue would go away with motion, only to make his cravings more passionate. In his suffering, he tried to remain as silent as possible, but his companion's angelic hearing picked every grumble, cry, plea, and groan as he sat in the corner, pretending not to be affected by the sounds. _What have I done?_

Suddenly, the sounds stopped. Yuan looked up nervously at his companion, breathing in and out as his heartbeat increased tenfold. He struggled to his feet and ran over to the bed. Kratos lay motionless in an uncomfortable position, lacking the energy required to move, covers wrapped around his arms and legs in disheveled manner; most of his weight was on his shoulder, while he leaned on the side of his face, causing the pillow to block any air from reaching his nose and mouth. Pushing his cerulean hair behind his ear, he tilted the mercenary on his side, gently lowering him to his back, fearing he was unable to breath.

"Kr-Kratos!" The half elf's eyes widened in fear as he shook Kratos' body, staring into his companion's unmoved face for any signs of life. _No! Not yet! I'm not ready to lose you!_

With a monotone moan, Kratos opened his eyes; the lids undulated as another wave of fatigue flushed over his face, exposing his dulling brown orbs. He tried to bring a hand to his head to wipe away gray strains rubbing against his skin, but Yuan beat him to it. The angel fixed the blankets under his companion to the best of his ability and straightened Kratos' clothing. He ended up smoothing the man's hair down to the sides, careful to avoid having any of the locks stick to his cheeks.

"...uh..."

Yuan shook his head and covered Kratos' mouth with his hand. "Don't talk if you're in pain. How many times do I have to tell you that?" He pushed the man back down, settling his body in a way he felt would be most at ease.

Something on the mercenary's face was different: the once radiant glint in his eye was gone, smothered out like a candle's fire. His breathing had yet to steady enough to quell Yuan's fears, but he made no effort to correct it. Despite the Ritual being complete, the fever remained and his skin was hot to the touch. Yuan's fingers began to develop sores and blisters from nursing Kratos. Through all this, the angel expressed no complaints. He couldn't forgive himself if his companion died, the last words coming from his mouth being negative. That was just unspeakable.

Kratos ignored the chastisement. "...wa-" His hand shot to his mouth as he covered a cough; his face grimaced in pain.

"Water?" replied Yuan as he scrambled around to find the bucket he'd been using to retrieve water from Derris Kharlan's well.

He located the bucket and turned back to his ailing companion just in time to make note of a soft nod. Yuan replied with a nod of his own, standing to his feet. "Alright, but the bucket's empty. I need to get more from the well. I'll be right back." He stood to his feet, bucket in hand, and made his way to the door with hastened footsteps. Kratos watched him walk away before turning on his side with his back facing the door with no intention of looking at it again.

Yuan turned the corner at lightning fast speeds and started off with a power-walk, which progressed into a jog, then a full run, until finally he summoned his pink, translucent wings. He growled to himself in disappointment, as he tried so hard to avoid their assistance. He didn't want to use the accursed, artificial appendages; one of the only things left that marked him as an angel of Cruxis. But, right now, there was no time to spare.

Derris Kharlan's well was off some distance from Welgaia; an area not heavily guarded, as no one felt the need to steal something as basal as water. It was hardly used, other than for cleaning purposes. He landed some feet away, retracting his wings early, causing him to run a bit before coming to a complete stop. Bucket in hand, he approached the brick well, placing it on the ground for the moment. Then he took hold of a small wooden handle on the side and turned it. The well creaked and the ropes moaned as the water pitcher rose to the surface. Soon, the pitcher reached the top, filled to the brim with water. Some spilled out over the edge as he struggled to keep it from falling and tumbling anymore than it already was.

"Damn you! Cooperate!" Yuan grumbled at the inanimate object. It must have heard him and replied by tipping over half way, spilling even more of the precious water. Shaking the bucket verified that only a quarter of its capacity remained. "You've gotta be kidding me..." He rolled his eyes, throwing the bucket back in the well to repeat the tedious process from the beginning.

Finally, he didn't want to begin considering the exact amount of time, his own bucket was filled with an adequate amount of water. With a glare, Yuan cursed at the well in several different languages, picking up his bucket with both hands and prepared to leave. He summoned his wings again as he brought up the possibility of losing them permanently. He sighed, shook his head, and closed his eyes, pushing the issue to the back of his mind for the time being. _I've plenty of time to think about that later. But right now, Kratos needs me._

_- - - - - - - - _

The angel navigated with swiftness, cutting through the air as if he were born with a natural sense of aviation, but kept the container in a standard position the entire time to avert loss of cargo. Somehow, most of the water managed to stay inside of the bucket. He landed the same way he did at the well and ran into the room with nimble footsteps guiding the way; his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness again as he waited for the sounds of coughing or a stray moan.

"I've got the..."

But something wasn't right.

Stepping into the room, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Dead silence."Kratos?"

No reply.

"Kratos?"

Silence.

"Kratos?! KRATOS!" Yuan panicked and released the bucket from his grasp, wasting all of his hard work. Water splashed all over the floor, raining down like a minute waterfall, and puddled in every direction as the bucket hit the ground with a large bang before rolling around its circumference until its momentum dispersed. It would have tripped him had he not outrun the water; his mind had far more important concerns, clouded with heartbreaking, but possible suspicions. "Dammit, answer me!"

With a slid, the half elf sprinted to Kratos' side and dropped to his knees, almost falling over himself. His hands grabbed the mercenary's body indignantly, gasping when he felt the temperature of the fingertips: ice cold. The skin was clammy, containing no color, with goose bumps all over like a million needles rising from his icy flesh. He remained unresponsive to all of the half elf's pleas for resurrection. This time, his companion's eyes never opened.

Parts of him wanted to believe that this was all just a cruel, sick joke for revenge, despite knowing that Kratos possessed no such harsh sense of humor. An aquamarine gaze scanned the still body for any hints of spirit, finding none. Yuan grabbed one of Kratos' wrist, flipping it palm-side up before placing his index and middle finger over the crease in the wrist joint. Shaking his head, he lowered it to the mercenary's chest, placing his ear where he determined the heart to be situated. Both inspections came to the same conclusion.

Kratos was dead.

"Say hi to Martel for me..." whispered the half elf as he stood to his feet. He took hold of his cape laying on the ground and placed it over his deceased companion. After standing there for a moment, he made his way out of the room, head drooped and feet shuffling as if they were too heavy to lift. Yuan turned the corner, leaned against the wall on his shoulder, and let his body drop down, softening the impact with his hands. And then, he resurrected a skill that had been dormant for over four thousand years.

He wept.

He grimaced in pain.

He crippled in sorrow.

He cried.

Because, this time, he couldn't save him.

Yuan thought about his last words to Kratos... _"I'll be right back."_ Suddenly, an intense pain hit his chest and his face hit the icy floor, shaking convulsively in a fetal position. He wrapped his arms around his body, tightening the grip as he embraced himself; aquamarine eyes widened in shock as they stared blankly onto the ground, his dusty black clad chest contracted and expanded as breathing pattern became more and more broken up. Cerulean hair broken free from behind his shoulders and ears, shielding the sides of his face. _I told him I'd be right back... he died waiting for me!_

_- - - - - - - _

Grief and sorrow consumed the planet, as if all of Heaven were dressed in black, mourning along side the half elf and the last of the light fled. Emotions he was not prepared to endure, but was forced to, devoured his conscious with little to no mercy. He felt guilty; it took Kratos' death to break down the stern wall of hostility that he spent four thousand years to build up. He tried to cease his tears, feeling it was a form of contempt. Still, no matter how hard he tried, the tears wouldn't stop. So, after a while, he gave up, and let the pain wash down his face.

Then came the issue of how to handle the remains along with the location of the ex-Seraph's eternal resting place. Just like the angel, Kratos' body would have to be disposed of quickly before it began to decompose and the smell haunted Yuan's memories for the rest of his life. His options were limited, due to most of the equipment being discarded, but he eventually came across a magitechnology casket similar to the ones used to bury Martel's failed vessels. Kratos was not a rejected vessel, but Yuan had little choice. Maybe they were all judged unacceptable; tainted in one way or another, having no use other than to warm a lonely grave. In failure, there is destiny.

He reentered the room after being absent for Martel knows how long. The sight of the mercenary's lifeless body, even through the darkness, made his face wince as if he were slapped by the memories. Swallowing his emotions, he trekked with slow steps to Kratos' side once again. He moved the body away for the time being, still feeling he needed more time to prepare. Yuan grabbed his cape and folded it before placing it on one of the bottom steps; for some reason, he had no desire to put it back on. Next came the pillow, which was left alone, followed by the blankets.

Kratos' journal remained on the floor, exposed once the pillow was removed. The half elf was hesitate to touch it, as if it would burn his flesh to alert him that he _lacked the right_ to view such a beautiful piece of literature. Eventually, he found the strength to pick it up and stared at it, waiting for it to give him some type of comfort. His palm ran over the top, taking note of the smooth sections along with a few nicks and bumps. This journal was now legendary in a sense, and he treated it as such. His thumb gripped the edge of the cover, in a manner suggesting he wanted to open it. But something stopped him. Shaking his head, he put the journal on top of the blankets and continued his duties.

Finally, he could no longer avoid the task. Yuan bent down on one knee, feeling the side of the casket until his fingers hit a clasp. A flip and the top opened with ease and a resounding echo as the joints and bearings creaked, revealing an empty space designated for only one resident. Looking up, he located Kratos' body, half expecting him to be standing, arms folded, eyeing the half elf with a frightened glare while he questioned the purpose of the casket; but he did not stand, he did not move, and he wouldn't ever again. _If only..._

Yuan turned to retrieve Kratos' body. He stood, only to bend down again, situating one arm under the mercenary's neck and the other under his knees: the same way he caught his body at Origin's seal. He took a deep breath in and lifted the entire mass along with his own, carrying it to the casket. The half elf ran his hand around the inside to make sure nothing protruded from the lining. His final inspection came out clean; now he was prepared to lower his companion's body inside, never to retrieve it again.

The face of Kratos pained him: the eyes were closed, the lips opened partially as if Kratos were speaking as he died, and his hair remained in a tangled manner; Yuan was forced to turn away and cover his eyes, suppressing the tears that demanded to overflow. For a moment, he considered covering the face with a blanket, but quickly voted against it. It wouldn't be fair to do such a thing solely based on his own unstable emotions.

"Goodbye, Kratos," Yuan whispered as he replaced the top of the casket. Now was the best time to say such a thing, even if it was too late.

No marches followed this funeral; things remained as silent as ever. No red sympathetic roses were placed on top of the casket, though Yuan wished he had some. No groups of weeping spectators or mourning hearts gathered at the edge, for they were in lands far away. No tombstone marked his final resting place and no pastor was present to speak words of comfort. Not even his son was in attendance to make note of his father's passing. No. Yuan was all that remained.

_Derris Kharlan. Population: One That Remains._

_- - - - - - - - _

The final decision was left up to Yuan. After much contemplation, he finally decided to let Kratos rest in the main hallway. Discarding it into space would be an act of sacrilege and he hated himself for not asking his companion's request before he passed away. If only he had more time to say everything he wanted to say, if only he knew how much time was left, he would have treasured it so much more carefully. Time was too precious to waste and he made a conscious promise to cherish his remaining time, even though he had no limit for his Cruxis Crystal was still in his possession. But it wouldn't be for long.

Now he was truly all alone; the last remaining angel of Cruxis, the only survivor of a corrupted organization. His mind still played host to infinite memories and secrets that would turn any heart to stone, including his own. The halls echoed with a dark muteness, sucking away the last bits of life that sought to manifest itself. He felt no need to find more candles for the darkness was so comforting and he felt his eyes would betray him by resurrecting more memories with a single glance. There was nothing else to lose: his goal, his fiancé, his love, his hope, his family, his dreams, they were all gone. He buried a piece of his heart along with Kratos, seeking no desire to retrieve it. Even if he did, it would remain dead.

"What is to become of me?"

He thought about his last options, coming to no original conclusions. Every room in Derris Kharlan had been taken care of and emptied, so his goal was met. A few of them were set on fire using the power of lightning, burned to ashes with a godly hell fire that would make Efreet envious. He doubted how long he'd survived on the planet with nothing to do but watch the stars tease his angelic eyes. Waning in regret, he still managed to hear soft whispers, unable to determine where they were coming from. The half elf looked around, only to view the same familiar darkness that's been greeting his vision ever since he set foot on this forsaken planet.

Yuan's heart dropped when he reached into his pocket. Kratos' Cruxis Crystal was still inside as he could not bring himself to destroy it as requested. Wherever his companion was, he wouldn't need it. He sat up with his back against the nearest wall and stared at it with teary aquamarine eyes, throwing his hair behind his shoulder. It still maintained its radiant glow, illuminating a small circle of the hallway, though some of it had died down. The Crystal was almost as cold as Kratos' body when Yuan last found it; not even warming it in his hand changed the temperature. Little did the mercenary know, his Crystal was born from the same fate as his son's: through the life of his mother; she was one of the first exsphere human ranch victims. Mithos never said a word, even knowing that his experiment had a tight blood relation to one of his Seraphim. Yuan knew as well, but never conceded, feeling Kratos would be unable to handle the truth, and regretted not confessing before he fell to his grave. Secrets seemed to ruin everything for the both of them.

And that's when he came to his decision. Standing, he walked over Kratos' casket and placed the Crystal on top, right next to his sacred journal, holy quill, and consecrated inkpot. He bent down, lowered his head, and gave another heartfelt farewell to the ex-Seraph. Yuan still had hope that maybe, just maybe, Kratos could hear him and he'd be able to find the courage deep within his soul to forgive the half elf of all his mistakes, for he had not a son to correct them.

No one else remained to nurse him like he did Kratos; he would singlehandedly witness, execute, aid, and participate in his own death. Maybe it was for the better, seeing how he reacted to his companion's death. Maybe Kratos would have broken down just like he did; maybe his brown eyes would flood with tears and he'd fall to his knees, weeping over a casket, screaming out inaudible apologizes that would never reach the ears of the dearly departed. Maybe that's why the mercenary went first; a fear of sorrow, a fear of pain, a fear of being hurt again.

Yuan retrieved a second casket, purposely avoiding passing through the main hallway, and carried it into the Great Seed Chamber. Kratos' belongings still lay there, untouched since his death. The half elf had no intentions of disturbing them either; they served no further purpose. He placed the casket on the altar, where Martel resided for four thousand years, _unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything._ And that's where he'd stay; forever.

Once the casket was in position, centered and aligned from every side as if he were an offering to the Goddess Martel, he opened the top and stepped inside. His heart was racing, pleading with him to cease and desist from this most sinister plan since the Age of Lifeless Beings for nothing good would come from sacrificing himself. And just like his lord, he refused to listen, tapping in to the stubbornness that most members of Cruxis possessed. Nothing great would come from living any longer. His purpose had been fulfilled with the burial of his fellow Seraph, and now, nothing more remained.

Hands clasped together in a manner suggesting he was praying, he closed his eyes, tilted his head to the Heavens, and took one last breath in. He was not born as an angel; he was not born with glimmering wings, or the ability to fly, nor was immorality a birthright. Yet he chose to die as something artificial and counterfeit, thus ending the legacy of the organization with the bloodiest hands; the last of the blood being from its own members. _Farewell, Cruxis._

"Thy power floweth purely, ever unwavering. Accept my soul into thine embrace. Sacrifice!"

His voice produced screams that none could hear and his eyes filled with tears that none could see. A mana circle developed beneath his feet, glowing bright shades of purple and blue. Light flashed, strong enough to blind anyone standing in the room, and surrounded his body as mana flooded in all directions, pouring onto the stairs and overflowing off the altar. Beautiful pink wings appeared on his back once more. And he fell backwards; his body leaning on the edge of the casket with no one to correct his position.

_Derris Kharlan. Population: None That Remain.  
_

* * *

Oh noes! Nooo! Not Kratos and Yuan! I feel bad for the stuff I did to Yuan: having Kratos trick him out of the room and all; almost cried myself xD Wasn't expecting to have them both go in the same chapter, but if I had split it, chapter six would barely be five pages. Still, I'm pretty satisfied with the way this story turned out. Some parts need to be edited, but overall, I'm happy. Might edit later. 

We'll close with an epilogue; not sure when it'll be out. Maybe in a few days -shrugs- I just got my first project for a class.

Time to run before the fangirls come after me with pitchforks and torches. 'Til next chapter, TOOTLES. ♥


	6. Epilogue

Wow. It's finally over. Oh noes -cries- First off, I need to thank Spiritua for beta/proofreading all my chapters. She reads a lot of my stuff before it actually hits Fan Fiction; her advice is incredible. I'd also like to thank everyone who took their time out to review. I truly take the (sensible) comments to heart and use them to better my writing. The yaoi revisions will start after I finish When Students Become Teachers, or at least that's when I plan to start.

And this is the epilogue. I had a lot of fun writing this. I cut out some parts, but it's still eight pages long. Hee hee. Sorry if it's too long, but I think it's worth it. Took a little while to get started. Damn Writer's Block. Then I turned on the perfect playlist and the words began to flow. I put my heart and soul into this chapter, and I hope you can sense it. Typed it up in about three or four hours O.o

If it helps, try listening to some of the songs from my playlist: Fields of Hope from Gundam SEED, Eternal Snow from Full Moon Wo Sagashite, Myself from Full Moon Wo Sagashite, Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance, and Only Hope by Mandy Moore. Those should put you in the mood.

Alright, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy the epilogue ♥

I do not own Tales of Symphonia. If I did, Welgaia's elevator key would have been in Lloyd's pocket. (I hate the Welgaia dungeon.)

* * *

In a small cottage somewhere within the Iselia forest, sat a swordsman with a legendary past and a dull present, alone: just the way he liked it. Time seemed to pass him by; he could easily pass for late thirties as age could not touch his skin. The blood of an angel was indeed unique and he became the source of unwanted attention, the foundation of many lies, and the unwilling origin of enough scandals to last a lifetime, adopting a hostile facade none would imagine him possessing, and passing away an endless number of research opportunities. He had worked so hard to end such research, but some people would never learn. 

The rainfall hadn't let up, pounding against the roof with fury and tapping the thin glass windows in indignation, showing no signs of ceasing. And no one could figure out why. Most were just content knowing the poor weather had nothing to do with the Yggdrasill Tree or Mana; what would the world do if it needed to be saved yet again? This time of the year was supposed to be radiate, showing life in the fullest extent of its glory: flowers blooming and trees gleaming with strong green leaves, swaying in the brisk breezes as nature ran its wondrous course. But the flowers refused to unfold, the trees grew almost reluctantly and their leaves were a combination of green and brown, half dead, and the air remained stale, unpleasant to breath, unpleasant to smell. Nature felt so unnatural.

Early mornings weren't as beautiful as they used to be; the sun no longer rose with that same bright glow he remembered all those years ago, shining over the lands with a sense of deliverance that made him glad to be alive. To him, and many others, the sun had mellowed down to something with strength that could easily be rivaled by a single candle light, and occasionally, he'd catch himself staring at it with disappointment, wondering what went wrong. Even the moon and stars became lusterless, somewhat of an eyesore, as if they no longer wished to brighten a world with such a tainted past. Theoretically, everyone knew it was impossible for the stars had no feelings, but his eyes had seen so much; it became difficult to separate fact from fiction, impossible from the possible, truth and lies.

A rapid knocking at his door broke his train of thought. He marked the page in the book he had been reading and set it aside. Standing to his feet, he muttered his suspicions about the reason for the disturbance as he walked over to the wooden door. Visitors were scarce, but he made little to no complaints. It was in solitude that he did his best thinking, hoping that somehow the loneliness would bring him closer to the ideals and reasoning of his father. He had saved the world, but now it was time to save himself.

Dull brown eyes widened in shock as Lloyd looked over his soggy visitant who was breathing heavy, supporting his body on a single knee and palm. There stood a half elf with drenched clothing and drooping silver locks, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he tried to regulate his respirations. His clothing was filthy; dirt smeared all over his shirt and pants, and his boots were covered in mud. He looked up to his long-time friend and somehow found the strength to stand, supporting his weight against the door frame. He wiped away raindrops from his disheveled face; his cheeks burned as the heat flashes tried to subside.

Time caressed him the same way it did Lloyd, due to his elven blood; age marked him as sixty two years old, but those who had no knowledge of his birth date considered him around the age of twenty. He had grown some, gaining height to rival the swordsman's, but he missed by a few inches. His hair grew long, though he made it a priority to keep it somewhat short, and his facial features ripened like a priceless fruit.

"Ge-Genis!" The swordsman's voice matured, merely an octave higher than his father's. Whenever he spoke, memories of Kratos flooded the minds of those who knew him. They tried to hide the pain in their faces, but Lloyd caught every tear, heard every whimper, and played audience to every cry, and watched every breakdown; after a while, he learned to ignore it. "What's wrong?!" he asked, moving outside to help the half elf.

Genis declined the assistance, shaking his head as he tried to turn his mumbling into understandable articulations. "I'm fine..." He straightened his body, scanning his surroundings with icy blue eyes as if the environment were unfamiliar; in fact, he was the most frequent visitor to the Irving-Aurion residence, if not the only. "I-I just got back from-" Bringing his free hand to his mouth, Genis coughed from the back of his throat. His eyes shut in pain as he waited for the migraine to lessen.

"Come inside," said Lloyd as he slid to the side.

"No. We wouldn't be here for long anyway," he replied, steadying his breath and placed his hand to his pounding heart.

"What? Why?"

"I just got back from the Renegade Base in Triet. Derris Kharlan is back! It's entering our gravitational pull as we speak!" Genis' arms waved excitedly and his face brightened in hopes of the swordsman following suit.

Lloyd's heart stopped and he found himself unable to speak, though billions of words congregated on his tongue's tip. No words needed to be spoken. He found himself stuck between a laugh of joy and a grimace of pain with his mouth wide open, not knowing what to expect. So many years had passed, more than enough time for things to change beyond belief; would he be pleased with the changes? Would the planet play host to a dream come true? _Does... Dad even remember me?_

"Dad..."

The half elf grew irritated with his companion's lack of movement. Grabbing Lloyd's arm, he tightened the grip and pulled him out of the house with godly force, closing the door afterwards. His strength was no where near as extensive as the swordsman's, but in his current state, Lloyd could be moved by wind, and his mind was in something that could only be described to others as a deep daze.

"Come on!" exclaimed the Mana Master as he pulled Lloyd into the pouring rain; his steps started out slow before he initiated a full sprint, ending up in a run. Lloyd's feet moved in the direction Genis lead, but his mind remained as cluttered as ever, in a zombie-like state.

"...Dad..."

- - - - - -

Fighting the fierce weather, they navigated through thick storm clouds on separate rhearids. Rain descended with an even stronger intensity than it did at Lloyd's cottage as the storm grew more powerful. Their hands slipped on the controls, as well as restrained their vision; Time played tricks on their senses, and each had a few close calls along the way. It had been a long time since either laid eyes on such a thing or even operated one for that matter. Genis kept an eye on his friend, concerned for his safety; the Eternal Swordsman hadn't said a word since they left the cottage. The dark silence started to bother him; rainfall was the only song he heard the entire ride.

It was like walking into a memory. They approached the Tower of Salvation with mixed emotions. Genis was the first to land and waited impatiently for Lloyd to follow, which he did after a few seconds of hesitation. The two were not alone: at the base of the stairs stood a small group of people, more blurry memories that slowly sharpened in Lloyd's head; some were more familiar than others, but the ones he remembered the most vividly gave him a small sense of solace.

"I never wanted to see this place again." Raine stood with her face to the sky, gazing upon the remnants of the Tower. She found it ironic that once, many decades ago, millions worshiped it as the "salvation" of the worlds, including herself. Tightening the grip on her umbrella, she tilted her head skyward a bit more; droplets got into her eyes but she found herself rather tolerate, and continued inspecting history with an aged icy blue gaze. Time kissed her the same as her brother, but her age showed with a bit more vibrancy. Her silver locks cascaded well down her back, reaching her petite waist, though she usually kept it wrapped in a band. Her attire had changed from orange jackets and white shirts to long dresses and lab coats; she aided the Renegades in monitoring the Yggdrasill Tree as well as Mana, though she wanted nothing more to do with either of them.

"... Me either, Professor." Next to Raine stood an angel, hands clasped in their familiar form while grasping a second umbrella. Shoulder length blonde hair was braided into a messy bun and bound in place with a band. Her diamond blue eyes were glued to the tower in shock, as if she were expected to place her hand upon an Oracle Stone and sacrifice her heart and memories for the greater good of the masses. She wore a simple Spring dress with flat shoes that sank into the mud, but it was the least of her worries. Her barely aged face seemed as if chiseled in stone; she managed to retain her youth, thanks to the Cruxis Crystal and Rune Crest on her chest; they were the only things keeping her alive, the only things keeping her from turning into the only thing worse than a lifeless angel: an exsphere. Melancholy memories flooded her mind: battles with witches and harpies and wolves, being chased by assassins, imposters, hiding fatal secrets, lessons on the Angelic language and Spiritua's journeys, releasing seals, being born to die, and the gentle kiss of Toxicosis. And soon, tears followed. They merely mixed with the rain. The ex-Chosen thought it was better that way.

Both turned to lay eyes on the swordsman neither had seen in what felt like a thousand eternities. Lloyd and Colette were engaged to marry, under one condition: Colette was asked to wait for Kratos' return so that he could take part in his son's marriage. And she waited, and continued to wait, and had been waiting for fifty years to take his hand in holy matrimony; time was but a small price to pay for him.

"Lloyd..." Diamond eyes brightened and her stone face softened. Somehow, a smile broke through. Had it been years ago, she would have run into his embrace, but maturity slowed her pace, and she began walking to meet him half way.

Her voice was like the sun after the storm, but he found himself unable to share in her smile. His gaze shifted from his companions to the sky as he waited for the object of attraction to come into view. She covered him in her umbrella, even though he was completely soaked.

The Sage siblings quarreled through their icy blue eyes. Genis won the fight and Raine backed off with a sigh, returning her sights to the gray skies. "The planet should become visual within a matter of moments," said the Professor in a voice that made them all feel like they were back in time, back in Iselia learning about the Ancient Kharlan War and pacts between a Goddess that never existed and fallen heroes.

And that's when sparks of violet and plum broke through the gray; at first, in small sections, but soon, it covered the sky as it did five decades ago. Something inside each of them gave the sudden urge to fall to their knees, to ready their weapons against a mass of angels, to prepare to come face to face with Yggdrasill, to resurrect the Giant Kharlan Tree, to save the Chosen. They readied their eyes to view thousands upon thousands of caskets that hovered inside. But nothing could prepared them for the real horror that awaited.

Lloyd was the first to step closer, ascending the stairs with his eyes closed. His feet were surprisingly nimble, for they remembered these steps from long ago. The others found the strength to follow; Raine was next, followed by Genis, and Colette lagged behind, for good reason. The few surviving Renegades climbed the stairs, and all stopped before the teleporter.

For the first time in fifty years, the teleporter glowed and Colette suppressed a scream that could have easily deafened everyone within earshot. Raine put her hand on the ex-Chosen's shoulder and gave a sympathetic nod. Lloyd turned away, raising his hand to the sky to show the Ring of the Pact. He stepped on the teleporter without a glance back and disappeared into thin air. _Dad, I'm coming._

The first thing they noticed was a smell to rival all distasteful aromas. Each put a hand to his nose, turning away to grimace in pain and their nostrils cried out in protest. The same darkness greeted the group just as it had the Seraphim. Silence echoed in the halls, and no signs of life remained; light was almost as scarce as their hope of finding survivors. Colette looked to the Professor, and the Professor to Lloyd, who reverted back to his lifeless gaze as his brown orbs scanned a fifty year old incubus. Genis stepped closer to his friend, ready to support in any way he could. They said nothing; the Renegades walked ahead, taking notes and pictures with a special camera. Had the swordsman not been so out of it, he would have snapped at them for treating Derris Kharlan like a tourist attraction.

"...Oh no!" gasped Colette with her hand to her chest. In front of her lay a casket she prayed was unoccupied.

Catching the words, Lloyd broke from his daze and eyed the Chosen with a strange glint in his gaze. He walked over to her and almost fell to his knees when he caught sight of a casket.

"Dear Martel... please."

Genis was the one to ask. "Whose casket is it?"

Colette was the one to answer. "I-I don't know."

"... Don't even think about opening it." Raine stepped up behind them, averting her eyes from the casket as it pained her almost as much as the swordsman. Her brother looked at her with surprise, forgetting for a moment that the Professor possessed the unique ability to read minds: an ability that strengthened during times when the hearts of others were in their most fragile state.

On top of the casket sat an old booklet, a dusty quill, an inkpot with dried ink, and another object from their distant memories that they would have preferred stay distant. The Crystal had lost most of its luster, but the aura it let off was enough to make their hearts skip.

"What's this?" Colette picked up the booklet and flipped through the first few pages. Her head shot to the side as she coughed away dust. When her breathing became steady, she turned back and tried to read the first few words. "...se'laia-" She stopped reading aloud when she finally realized it was in the Angelic language, but recognized the handwriting. "This is.. Kratos' handwriting."

Lloyd's ears perked up and he slid to Colette's side. She handed over the journal, trying to make eye contact, but the swordsman's eyes stayed glued to the journal's cover. His fingers touched the binding, caressing it as if the journal were a brittle child. He flipped through the book himself, confirming his father's beautiful handwriting. Genis and Raine looked on in anticipation and waited for him to make the next move.

"Dad." Starting from the back, Lloyd looked for the last entry. After a few heavy moments of searching, he found it and looked around for a date, finding none.

Colette sensed something from the journal; something horrible, something heartbreaking, something dangerous. She found herself fighting blind fear, and swallowed twice before saying, "Lloyd, you don't have to read it now. You can wait unti-"

He ignored the advice, and squinted his eyes to translate the last written words of his father:

"_This is wishful thinking, but I'm writing this regardless. Something inside my heart tells me you're still alive; Fate has shown me once before that I've no reason to reject it. By the time you read this and if all has gone as planned, I will have already passed away. This is for reasons of my own; please forgive me if you feel I've made another terrible mistake. Fourteen years passed since I had last saw you, and I must admit, when I finally did, it warmed my bitter heart. Anna is pleased with you, as am I. _

_I pray you are enjoying your life in the new world, living on in a peaceful environment. You've surpassed me, not only in swordsmanship, but in so much more; it took me four thousand years to realize a mistake while you did so in a fraction of the time. You are my pride and joy. I wish I had told you sooner, with my own lips. Thank you for acknowledging me as your father. _

_I died of my own free will; please do not think ill of Yuan for he only honored my final wish. I desired to die with my humanity and my dignity, so no Aionis remains in my body. If my Cruxis Crystal has not been destroyed, please do so. And if you see Yuan, thank him for me._"

And that's when Time stopped, and not a word was said; but the story words could not tell, the silence told. Destiny, Time, and Fate looked upon them as they reviewed the aftermath of their own doings, and still, They were pleased. They found nothing wrong: to Them, everything had gone as planned.

Raine took in a deep breath, turning away from them all. Colette broke down and wept like a heartbroken widow. Genis looked at his friend with wide icy blue blues, waiting for Lloyd to lash out in anger, to fall to his knees, to scream, to yell, to mourn like he never mourned before, but none of the above occurred.

"Yuan... where's Yuan?" were the first words that escaped Lloyd's lips and he gripped the journal. "Where's Yuan?!" Now his question escalated into a demand. "WHER-"

His demand was met. "Here he is," said a Renegade. Surrounding him were a few of his colleagues; their hands were occupied with something that resembled the shape of a body. One was holding a familiar black cape.

The swordsman ran to them, pushing his way through the small crowd and stopped before the body of a Seraph. He was being carried by three Renegades; his arms drooped lifelessly along the sides, dirty cerulean hair dangled everywhere, and his mouth was partially opened. But the worse part was the fact that his aquamarine eyes were wide open, pupils dilated to the size of a pin needle.

"Yuan!" Lloyd screamed at the deceased body. Everyone shook. "_**YUAN!**_"

His cries echoed through the halls and empty corridors of Derris Kharlan. "..._Yuan!"_

The sky fell and crushed the last bits of hope he had laying dormant in his heart. _"...Yuan..."_

Grief and sorrow were once again resurrected in the worse ways imaginable. "..._Yuan..."_

"_...Yuan.."_

She knew no one else would do it. "We need to retrieve the bodies. For now, take both of them to the Flanoir Base," Raine ordered. "Not a word is to be spoken of this to anyone. The less that's known, the better."

The Renegades followed her orders and some broke away to retrieve Kratos' casket. Lloyd couldn't watch. He wouldn't watch.

"What to do with these?" one asked, referring to the inkpot, quill, and Cruxis Crystal.

"They rightfully belong to Lloyd, but give them to me for the time being. I'll return them to him when the time is right. But not now."

And as the bodies were being taken from Derris Kharlan, the atmosphere still echoed with the bitter sounds of mourning and two names that none could forget.

"_Kratos. Yuan. Why?_"

- - - - - -

At Raine's request, news of the Seraph's bodies remained something of a secret, though questions of Derris Kharlan's appearance were asked. The Professor, being the only one capable and willing to do an interview, explained everything with watered down details, saying that Derris Kharlan is merely a star, one of the largest in the solar system, and was due to come into orbit every fifty years. The public seemed satisfied, and that was enough to please her. The group was silently thankfully for Professor Raine Sage coming to the rescue once again. So, after a while, everything return to normal.

Kratos was buried before Origin's seal. Heimdall itself had gone through some changes, as some half elves were brave enough to move, and soon after, others followed. They welcomed the ninth companion with open arms and lead a grand funeral march through the Forrest of Elves. The animals scurried from the path; birds called out to the sky, wolves howled, questioning the Goddess Martel, and tree blocked most of the light, leaving shadows across the ground. He finally got his roses, the weeping mourners, a pastor, and his son. They cried and trickled away one by one, and only the original group felt compelled to remain a bit longer, along with some stray Renegades.

Yuan was left in the care of the Renegades. They debated on where to let him rest: the Flanoir Base or the Triet Base. One even brought up the idea of Remote Island Ranch, where Botta's remains lay. The dispute was fiery, but Raine broke it up, demanding he be buried before the Great Seed; where else but to let him lay with his fiancé? So another funeral was arranged within a few days of Kratos' and the mourners returned once again, finding a few stray tears to shed. They threw some more roses on top of the custom made casket. The Elder of Heimdall spoke at his funeral and the Storyteller paid a visit. Yuan's Cruxis Crystal was removed just moments before his final descent, and Lloyd destroyed it on site. He had yet to destroy his father's.

Sheena had finally shown her face for the first time in ages to pay her last respects to the Seraphim. Time was kind to her. She maintained her beauty, but grief seemed to drown it out. All her kimonos were made in some shade of gray or black, and she finally let her hair down; its soul purpose was to shield her face. She kept to Mizuho, and busied herself with its care. The town was too dense to notice the way her face grimed more and more with each passing moment, every time she looked at Zelos' grave, located somewhere near the river. They questioned her on her reasons for not attending the return of Derris Kharlan at the Tower of Salvation, but she avoided the answer as best she could. Raine knew why, and she kept it secret from the others, feeling rather disappointed at how quickly they'd forgotten the past. The Planet of Mana and Life was also the Planet of Death; that Tower of Salvation was in fact the Tower of Damnation.

- - - - - -

It was a few weeks later when Colette decided to pay a visit to her fiancé's cottage. Raine gave the ex Chosen the encouraging speech she needed. She wanted to know the status of their engagement: would Lloyd call it off due to the death of his father? Surely, the swordsman wouldn't be so cruel as to do a thing, and Kratos wouldn't be happy with such a reason. It pained her much to pry, but she just had to know for she loved him, and if he wanted to wait for his heart to heal, she'd wait. She'd wait forever and ever; with her Crystal and his angelic blood, they both had forever. But how long is forever?

She decided to wear a more cheerful outfit: all white with hints of lavender along the arms. With a skip in her step, she made her way through the familiar Iselia forest, speeding up when his porch came into view, and a smile spread across her face. In fact, Colette played a major part in the design for his cottage; they built it together, the dream house they planned to raise a family in, but until legally married, she was forbidden to live with him. Phaidra's grave was cold, yet Colette felt as if her grandmother's spirit would arrest her the moment the ex-Chosen made a mistake. But it was of little matter; soon, they'd be together, and together they'd find out the length of forever. If only she had realized forever ended on that day.

Colette jumped up the porch steps and stopped before his door. She raised her hand, balled up a petite fist, and knocked on the door. Her smile remained unaltered as she waited. Another knock, then two, then three, then four. She finally realized the silence; he wasn't moving around. Maybe he wasn't home, but it was Sunday, and Lloyd wasn't known for leaving his home for anything other than food and solemn visits to his deceased drawven father's estate. Why the boy moved when Dirk died remained a mystery, and despite the number of times he was asked, it remained as such.

Now she was worried.

"Lloyd?" called the angel from the other side of the door.

Silence.

"Lloyd...?!"

No answer.

"Lloyd!"

Grabbing the doorknob, she twisted it to the side with enough angelic force to shatter it. To her relief, the door was unlocked, and she ran inside, looking around in the living room at first, then the kitchen, then the bathroom. Maybe the swordsman had fallen, knocking himself unconscious. Or maybe he had been assaulted the night before by bandits; a revolt? No, of course not. With his experience in combat, Lloyd could easily tear any bandit to shreds. There was even the possibility that he heard the door, but refused to answer. But why?

Finally, she made her way upstairs and into his bedroom. She prepared herself a moment, inspecting her own attire and straightened her hair before knocking.

"Lloyd? Are you in here?" she asked.

No reply.

"I'm coming in."

And when she did, she wished she hadn't. Lloyd lay on his bed with his arms out to the side, his father's journal across his chest, and white tear streaks down his face as if he had been crying the night before. Eyes closed, he gave the illusion of deep slumber. At first, she gasped with her hands to mouth, thinking he was asleep, but closer inspection proved otherwise. Something was wrong.

He wasn't... breathing.

Colette stepped to his bedside, staring at his face for any signs of life. Fear overtook her, and she shook his shoulder, calling his name into the atmosphere. But he didn't answer. He didn't wake up. He never would again.

Her screams could be heard from the village of Iselia, to the dry sands of Triet, to the roaring seas of Palmacosta, through the sturdy stonewalls of Meltokio. The sound waves vibrated through the glass windows, causing them to shatter and scatter across the grounds; each piece resembled a part of her now broken heart. And even if she screamed twice as loudly, it still wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.

_Aurion Bloodline: None That Remain_.

- - - - - -

She cried enough tears to drown herself in, and had they not sunken into the soft dirt, she probably would have. It had been a long time since she cried so many times in succession, not exactly a skill she was proud of. Colette found temporary comfort in her half elven friends; they made it a priority to stay in contact as much as possible. The would-be widow was unable to make the funeral preparation alone; her knees caved in at the mere mention of the swordsman's name. With the aid of the Professor, a third funeral was arranged. Not too many people attended, but Colette received enough flowers to fill his cottage. Their fragrant smell gave her no solace. If only Raine could revitalize a broken heart.

"On-...once upon a time, there existed a tree that was the source of all mana. A war however caused this tree to wither away, and a hero's life was sacrificed...in... order... to take... its... place.." The words shot holes through her soul, yet she could not stop retelling the world's most famous tale.

"Colette..." Raine stepped closer to the mourner, hesitate to touch. Her small heels dug into the moist grass and her black dress swayed in the gentle breezes. There were some lessons that could not be taught in school for no textbooks could accurately convey such profound emotions; those lessons had to be learned first hand.

"Sacrificed... a life was sacrificed. And the Goddess grieved, disappearing unto the Heavens-" She lifted her tear-filled diamond blue eyes to the skies as if she were searching for a distant paradise called Heaven through her black veil.

Genis grew worried; he had his own grief to deal with, and now Colette was adding to the pile. "-Colette!"

"But there is no Heaven." Colette dropped to her knees, breaking the fall with black gloved hands. She shook her head from side to side, trying to stop the tears from falling."There is no place for us. There is no place for heroes and angels."

"Yes there is, Colette. It's just not here."

Finally, she asked the question that had been on her spirit since the Regeneration: the question she couldn't find an answer to, the one that turned her dreams into nightmares, her hopes into doubts, her smiles into frowns, her tears to blood, and her laughs into cries. "What is to become of me?"

But, sadly, neither Genis nor Raine could give her a solution. All they could do is join together and cry.

- - - - - -

Now each angel had been put to eternal rest, and only one remained. The Chosen was the last with the reluctant will to survive, fueled by the memories of her fiancé, her mercenary, her competition, and her first assassin. In her hands was a map of the new world. Pins marked the graves of each fallen hero. After staring at it for a while, she noticed something unusual, but cruel in her own mind. Her already sorrow worn diamond eyes filled with tears once again, and she threw the paper down in outrage, burying her face in her hands.

"Colette!" Raine, who had been nearby, ran to the blonde and wrapped her arms around the angel's shoulders.

"Why?! Why can't the memories just leave me alone? Why just me?"

"What are you talking about?" Reaching over, she picked up the map and smoothed out the wrinkles. When she saw it, she sighed, tightening her embrace as she suppressed her own tears. Colette broke into sobs; her petite frame shook spastically. And there was nothing Raine could do.

For on the map of the new world, the caskets of the deceased angels, Kratos, Yuan, Zelos, and Lloyd, formed a cross.

- - - - - -

"_What will become of me, Professor?"_

"_I don't know, dear. Only time will tell."_

_How does it feel to be _All That Remains?

* * *

And thus ends Angelic Sacrifice: Them That Remain. Whoa, that was intense! The ending almost made me cry, lol. But, for some odd reason, I had the urge to end it with a question. Think I hit my mark. Question mark that is. -insert rimshot- So, like, in case you're wondering about Regal and Presea, they were cut. One reason being I wanted the ending to revolve around those who were in contact with Kratos and Yuan the most. Second reason being the chapter would have been ten or more pages. Sheena and Zelos were added for obvious reasons. Poor Sheena -snuggles Sheena plushie- 

Gah. Poor Yuan. His body didn't decompose and his eyes were wide open when he died! Oh noes! That's a sight to sleep on. But at least he was properly buried next to what's left of Martel. -insert awws- Kratos' last entry made me sniffle. "You are my pride and joy." It's a talent to make yourself cry when writing. LOL.

I kinda feel bad for what I did to Colette: having Lloyd die before they married. Waiting fifty years to get married? That's a pretty long time. Gotta have a lot of love and patience to do something like that. But having her pass away would have been overkill, wouldn't you agree? And eternal life is the worse punishment I could think of for her.

So it seems that Kratos and Lloyd/Anna's exspheres were never destroyed. Why? -shrug- He ran out of time. No, I'm joking. There's a deeper significance to that, and I'll leave it to your imagination. The cross... there's a deeper meaning to that too, but I shall also leave that to your imagination. It was something of a last minute decision. Last minute meaning it popped into my head during English class yesterday xD

Once again, thank you all for reading. Until next time, TOOTLES. ♥


End file.
